The View From Up Here
by StripedHatter
Summary: "Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking outward together in the same direction." Astoria didn't go into the tea shop with the intention of seeing an old acquaintance, nor did she intend the events that followed. But that's life, isn't it? It sweeps you off your feet- and then you're falling, always for the wrong person.
1. tea

_"An hour sitting on a park bench with a pretty girl seems like a minute, but a minute sitting on a hot stove seems like an hour."_

* * *

Astoria had never been a fan of the rain.

There was a heavy drizzle pouring on the London streets, steaming against the asphalt, and Astoria was quite done with the whole idea of weather. What was the point in having magical abilities if she couldn't even make the sun shine on a rainy day?

The small cafe she sat in was empty but for the man behind the counter, a sleepy old man whose nose had remained permanently fixed in a book from the moment she entered the store, except as she paid. Her scone had been reduced to flaky crumbs on a small porcelain dish, and her teacup had only a vague brown stain at its base, with a handful of tea-grounds that had strayed into the liquid. A book rested next to her vacanted plate, open to a page she had read and reread a hundred times, a page whose words still eluded her.

The door to the cafe swung open and in swept someone Astoria had not seen in two years, not since her horrific fifth year at Hogwarts. Someone she had thought never to see again, unless she acquired that Ministry job her parents desired for her. Someone who made her heart quicken and her palms get clammy, against her better judgment.

Someone whose crystalline blue eyes completely missed her in their glance around the cafe.

She turned quickly back to her book, but the motion tickled her nose. _Oh, no- no-!_ A sneeze shook her, a rapturous _achoo!_ sounding in the small cafe. Her eyes shot up in hopes he hadn't noticed, but, sure enough, he had, and he was now staring at her with a painfully contemplative expression. A thought struck her then that she hadn't yet thought of: _Perhaps he doesn't remember me._

Hope entered her heart that she could simply read her book and he wouldn't say a word to her. She trained her eyes to the words; again, though, they eluded her. Instead of the usual magical array of images and symbolism her mind drew up upon reading, she was simply staring at small, abstract black marks on a faded white page. At the edge of her vision and the front of her attention, she realized he was making his way to her table. He paused next to it, and she braced herself, slowly raising her eyes to his. Walnut brown irises, flecked with gold, out of place in the rainy world, stared into eyes blue as ice, veined with silver as rich as their owner's bloodline.

"Do I know you?"

She felt her jaw clench at the words and forced herself to swallow. "I- I'm not sure. Is there a reason you would?"

"I just- your face…" He trailed off, and then let out a nervous chuckle and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I thought you were someone I knew. I'll be going, then."

His name was on the tip of her tongue and she nearly corrected him that yes, he did know her; but Astoria had never been one known for her boldness, and then he was walking away. Seeing him again had sprung forth a million questions in her mind: why had he condescended to enter such a dinky little joint? What had happened after the Battle of Hogwarts two years ago?

She had always thought there was something deeper to him, some inward consciousness, and that he wasn't just his family's pawn; but then she had witnessed his actions for five years at Hogwarts, and that hope had died. Now, though… He hadn't had the same sniveling disdain as before, didn't strike her as the same _my-father-will-hear-about-this_ wimp he had been. After all, it _was_ possible for people to change, especially after such a terrible war, and such a terrible battle. They had watched their friends and family fall around them; it couldn't truly be a shock to her that there was something different in his eyes. She wanted to think it was a new awareness of the world, but she also thought it might just be guilt. Whatever it was, when he had looked at her, she had seen a changed man staring back.

She had been staring at the same page in her book for perhaps five minutes as her mind wandered, reflecting on events and happenings and people that she had left long behind, or so she'd thought. She had just finally graduated from Hogwarts; she had a future to look ahead to, and no business looking back. She had no business-

"Astoria Greengrass."

He had returned.

She had been so lost in thought she hadn't heard his approach. Her eyes snapped up to his, the same crystalline irises she had dreamed of for her first two years at Hogwarts, until his personality had killed any dreaminess offered by his handsome face.

"Yes, that- that's me," she said. Her throat was dry; she could tell there was no chance of the words in her book seeping in now. Her heart thudded distantly in her chest, but her head felt a mile away from it. _Is this arrhythmia? Am I dying?_

"Draco Malfoy," he said. "We were both Slytherins in Hogwarts- I-." But then he cut off, as though remembering, and his eyes grew wide. "I'm so sorry. You probably saw me do horrible things."

She shrugged. "Things change. _People_ change. I imagine you aren't the same person you were then." _Perhaps he never was that person, was only pretending._

"No," he said quickly. "I've- I've changed a lot since then." He was quite for a minute, seemingly as nervous as she was, and then, in a rush, "Do-ya-mind-if-I-sit-with-you?"

His words didn't quite process. _I must've heard that wrong._ "Sorry, what?"

He straightened the ends of his black pea-coat, keeping his eyes on that. "Um, I- may I sit with you?"

She blinked at him. _Draco Malfoy wants to sit with me in a cafe? Have I gone bonkers?_ "If you truly desire to do so."

"I do."

He had set his plate, holding a flaky golden almond croissant, and his cup which, by smell, Astoria guessed held rosehip tea. He now sat across from her, and slid the plate and cup over to him. His eyes fell on her empty teacup.

"Oh- were you about to leave?"

She let her gaze also fall to the empty cup, and flit back to his. "Oh, no; I'm just- I'm in here to waste time, until my sister gets here. We don't live far away and I promised her tea."

"I'd hate to intrude-"

"Draco," she interrupted, "It's fine."

He fell silent, giving her a nervous smile, and then took a small sip of his tea. Astoria let the silence simmer for a moment as the cashier walked up with a pot and refilled her empty cup before disappearing into a backroom of the cafe.

"So, do you live in London these days?"

She looked up at him, her eyes landing on his face, and stared just a heartbeat too long before remembering how to respond. "Oh, um- yes. At the edge of London, actually, on the west side."

"I thought you said you lived nearby?"

She shrugged, staring at the steam rising from her tea. "It's really not that far. Our parents live a few blocks from here, but I live farther out."

His brow creased. "You're only fresh out of Hogwarts, aren't you?"

"Well, yes, but-" She paused, gathering her thoughts. "But my parents don't much like my way of thinking because they weren't there at the Battle of Hogwarts and didn't see firsthand the results of their prejudice so I live poor with a friend."

The words had all whisked out of her before she had been able to stop them; they tumbled onto the table, sitting between the two very different people, the two Slytherins from pureblood families who had been in the Battle, the two who, she thought, had little else in common. Her heart was quickening in her throat now and she was tempted to pay and leave, but she had already said she would be meeting her sister there, so she had no way to make a quick escape.

"I understand."

Her gaze shot up to his. "What?"

"I understand," he repeated, sincerity glistening in those silver-veined eyes. "I don't talk much with my parents anymore either. My mother loves me, perhaps too much, but she and my father both have such backward ideas. We generally try to avoid conversing about it; we keep conversation light- the Ministry happenings, my career, etc. I don't have many friends left anymore either, due to my change of heart at the end of the war."

She couldn't believe her ears. Draco Malfoy, the most prejudiced person she knew, had just disavowed the ideals he'd stood by for _years?_ Had actually agreed to understanding why she gave up privilege for poverty because of prejudice? The old _thump-thump-thump_ was happening in her chest again now, the old hope stirring once more that there was more to him than the pompous arrogant nob he'd been. She was somewhat miffed knowing he had the capacity to be this person before and hadn't been, but simultaneously she was pleased that he was this person now.

"You've really changed, then?"

He nodded once, not looking. "I imagine it must be unbelievable to someone who only knew me then."

"I always knew there was more to you, though."

Again, the words tumbled out without her meaning for them to. When she dared another glance at Draco's face, she saw confusion there, but his voice was intrigued as it formed the question, "How so?"

Her jaw clenched again. _Damn it, Astoria. Why can't you just keep your mouth shut?_ But there was no going back now, and the only options she had were to rudely refuse to answer, possibly leave, or tell him the truth. And so, for one of very few times in her life, Astoria Greengrass was bold.

"Well, I was hard-pressed at first to find something to convince me that you weren't the-" she paused, trying to find the word, "The self-important nob you made yourself out to be." Surprise and slight indignation flashed in his eyes, and she hurried on. "You looked down on everyone who wasn't pureblood as if they weren't but dirt under your shoe, and I hated that. Nonetheless, there was something underneath all the layers of imposed-superiority, something that showed up in your eyes when no one was looking. I noticed you do little things now and then; in your third year, my first, I was the only one who accidentally glimpsed the writing of the letter you sent your father, asking him to drop the case against Hagrid. Everyone thought you hated Hagrid, and the hyppogriff; I knew different. In your fourth year, you _knew_ about the first task involving dragons, and when you thought no one could hear or notice, you made sure each champion's robes were flame-proof, using a charm I had never even heard of. The list goes on; your sixth year, you didn't want to kill Dumbledore, but you didn't see another way not to die- and at the same time you thought trying to kill the greatest wizard of that time would kill you just as assuredly as the Dark Lord would upon your refusal. You didn't think anyone could help you, so I never tried. But I saw your struggle, and I saw your fear and your desperation; you put on a good front, acting unaffected, but a person's eyes tell a great deal. And I saw the way you cowered from fighting during the Battle of Hogwarts; you didn't want to fight your classmates, but you also didn't want the repercussions that would come from turning against the Death Eaters. You had much more at stake than anyone considered- should you turn away, the punishment might be your parents' deaths. I saw that, and I understood why you didn't have such an easy time accepting the immediate ethical solution, which would have been to detach yourself from the Death Eaters and die the death of a hero. But you also would have sacrificed your parents to do so, and you couldn't forfeit their lives as easily as your own."

He was quiet for a long moment, and she thought he would leave. Part of her instantly regretted speaking up, and wished she hadn't told him any of that. She had always quietly observed the events of those around her, never speaking up, always an opinionated shadow; becoming anything more than that filled her with such discomfort as to make her wish for an invisibility cloak. Or that she were an animagus- something small that could escape easily. _I can always apparate._ The cashier still had yet to return; she had kept her voice down during her monologue, but she was still afraid a confundus charm would be due.

"You're right."

She froze. She was terrified already; she had rarely bared her soul like that to her sister, who she was closer to than anyone else, and she didn't make a habit of pouring her heart out to strange boys in tea shops- but there was a first time for everything. She looked up, reluctantly meeting his eyes, to see his expressions as raw and bare as her monologue: grief, guilt, pain, acceptance. There was something else there, too- something behind all of the surface emotions, something that flared as their eyes met, adding a spark to the ice blue. Something her scholarly mind couldn't put a name to, despite wishing it were so easy to identify.

"I'm not as terrible as I give myself credit for," he said softly, adding that same nervous chuckle from before. "I was assigned to a horrible task when I was still too young to even think for myself, and I was so torn between all of the regurgitated ideals and thoughts around me. You should know that after I left Hogwarts I spent a couple of years with my aunt Andromeda, whose husband had been a muggle, resulting in her name being blackened from the family tree by my grandmother. She taught me a lot, both about the way a child's mind works and about the way the world works. She corrected a lot of the pain and lack of purpose I had frothing in me at the time, and it's only just now that I've returned to my parents that I've truly seen how horrible I was. That you- that _anyone-_ cared enough to look for good in me back then is a wonder. Most of my friends were only interested in the power and money that came with befriending a Malfoy; they weren't truly 'friends' so much as allies. I was just… I was a lost kid in a bad place who only knew what his parents had taught him. It took seeing wide-scale death and pain as a result of those ideals to show me my parents were wrong, and then I had to find someone who was right. Aunt Andromeda corrected a lot of wrongs in my head, and now I'm just left with the guilt. I don't even know where to start."

Astoria stared at this fractured shell of the proud boy she had known, and considered what potential he might have had under different circumstances. His confidence had never lacked, only his courage; perhaps if he had been raised with backbone and modesty, he and Harry would have been more alike than he wanted to think. He'd excelled at his classes without trying, and he would have gotten along with that Granger girl he despised so much rather easily. If one removed Draco Malfoy's pride and prejudice, he was actually decent- just scared, and smart. _Intelligent,_ she corrected; smart implied something else entirely. As she stared at him, she realized his powerful position and all of his family wrongs could be turned in favor of the world she preferred, the world paved by Harry Potter two years ago- long before that, actually, if you got technical about when he first defeated the Dark Lord- where muggle-born wizards and witches were equal to purebloods.

"You could start by using your privilege for good," she said, and as the words tumbled out, she accepted that her mouth simply acted of its own accord around him, for whatever reason. "There's still a lot of bad in the world, and a lot to fix. Voldemort's downfall didn't end the prejudice, or the pain. Some were orphaned by the war; others were left without friends, lovers, siblings, and so on. I- I have a friend, Neville Longbottom, whose parents were tortured to insanity not long after the first downfall of Voldemort. Dangerous wizards are still out there, and there are aurors trying to catch them but in the meantime there is still a lot to fix here. As a Malfoy, your reputation and money allows you to do something about that."

He was staring at her with wonder. "For the past two years, I've been wondering if I'm brave enough to say aloud exactly what you just said. My father would go bonkers if he heard his precious pureblood son talk like that, but- the way you say it, it sounds bloody brilliant."

"Because it is," she said, staring at him with earnest eyes. The ambition that initially placed her in Slytherin stirred in her once more; Astoria had always been steadfast in her opinions, if in nothing else, but had known her cursed family frailty would stop her from ever taking a position of true power, because the stress would kill her. But suddenly she realized that her power could be in being a fantastic and influential friend. _Or more,_ her heart whispered, but she did her best to stifle such impractical yearnings.

"Could you help me tell my parents that?"

Her eyes bulged out. An image she'd always held popped into mind: tall, lean, pompous Lucius Malfoy, standing with angular features and arm around his wife, Narcissa, whose calico hair is pulled into an irrationally stiff bun, both with cold eyes staring ahead from slight scowls. They were one of the most powerful couples in England, even if that power had been reduced somewhat by the end of the Second Wizarding War; their fame and wealth was known to nearly all wizards and witches in the country.

"I- I don't quite think that's appropriate."

His brow twitched. "Why not?"

She cleared her throat. "Perhaps because I've never spoken to them before in my life and telling them that over tea I encouraged their son, who I haven't seen in two years, to use their money for the opposite of what they believe does _not_ seem like a good way to introduce myself?"

"But it could help!" He protested. "You said it yourself, my folly is that I lack the courage to stand up to these people. Perhaps _you_ can help me."

"Don't you think you ought to invite her to dinner before she meets the parents?"

Both looked up, startled by the unannounced presence of someone else. They had been so involved in their conversation, without any attention to the world around them, that they hadn't noticed the approach of Daphne Greengrass. Astoria met her sister's quizzical green gaze and felt herself shrink inward. Bold Astoria may not be, but it was her sister's main virtue.

"Daphne," Draco greeted her, swallowing quickly. "Pleasure."

"And to you, Malfoy," Daphne replied sharply. "If you're quite done compromising my sister's attention, I'd like to borrow it for a time."

"Of course." He stood quickly. "I was just finishing."

"You haven't even touched your tea," Astoria noted as he lifted the full cup.

"It'll be fine. I- I think this trip has enriched me far more than rosehip could." He made a slight bow to Daphne, all of his previous nervousness returning to his features. "Daphne, pleasure to see you again. I apologize for stealing your sister's time." He turned to Astoria and half-bowed again. "Astoria. I'll see you Saturday, at the Sailor's Tumult. Seven o'clock."

With that, he swept out of the bar. Astoria recognized the name of the bar (tavern, more like); she had been there once the past summer, when Daphne had dragged her along. It was a wizarding bar, a more expensive version of the Leaky Cauldron, and, of course, it was only two blocks from her flat on the far side of London. _Why did I tell him where I live?_

"So, what just happened?" Daphne asked, sitting where Draco had been. Astoria's attention snapped away from the closing door, through which the boy's pale form had just vanished, and she forced her eyes to meet her sister's. Daphne cocked an eyebrow. "Why were you sitting here with Draco Malfoy? I was under the impression you hated him."

"I do," Astoria said quickly, but instantly she regretted lying. "Or- or I did. I'm really not sure what just happened." _And I don't remember agreeing to meet with him Saturday; if anything, I remember adamantly refusing to do such a thing._

But as she looked out at the rainy streets, and reflected that she wasn't so upset the rain had forced her to wait inside the cafe, she found she didn't dislike the rain half so much as she'd thought- or the boy now walking through it, somewhere out of sight, still holding all of her attention.

"I really haven't a clue what just happened."


	2. sushi

**Chapter Two**

" _If you ever have need of my life, come and take it."_

The Sailor's Tumult was never quiet on a Saturday. It had a feeling like that one imagines would exist in a tavern in Barbados, perhaps in the early 1700s, with pirates and scrumpets lining the walls and tables. An excitement laced the atmosphere, tension like an impending bar fight and anticipation like silence before song. A melody carried in the words and boisterous too-loud laughs evaded Draco, as he stood near the bar, regretting many decisions in his life and especially this one. Why he had thought the quiet girl who boiled under the surface of porcelain skin would ever hold a decent conversation in a place like this was beyond him; he had been desperate last Tuesday, desperate to see her again and hear her spout truth at him like dragon-fire, and he had named the first place his tongue could produce. Now, he waited, with anxious glances at a clock too slow in its approach to seven.

He was in good position to see the door; he watched miscreants and fun-seekers come in and out, some entering alone and leaving with friends (or more), and some entering with friends only to leave alone. The sullenness of these few lonely people was lost amid the clamor and life circulating the bar, and, again, Draco cursed his own name at ever thinking this an appropriate place to invite Astoria Greengrass. But Merlin's beard, he had to see her again, and could think of no other way- and now it was too late to change plans, and there was no way he would dare stand her up.

He had tried for days now to pinpoint at what point, exactly, in their conversation he had developed this- but no, Draco doesn't _need_ anyone- this… _Desire_ for her company, but he couldn't place it. For a heartbeat, he would think it was as she first looked up at him, and he had been immediately captured by golden flecks he had never noticed in her eyes. Then his mind would declare that, no, in fact, it had been as she scolded him for everything that kept him up at night and then, in the same breath, commended him for the few things he was proud of, the things he could never confess to anyone else. Draco had dealt with guilt; it was as close a companion to him by now as his own shadow. It formed the tension in his shoulders and the stammer in his speech; it was the distance between his former self and the husk he carried around now. It was the thief that had stolen his pride, and yet he welcomed it, keeping it close at any given time, for fear that to lose this heavy thief would be to lose the values he had only just recently accepted. _Never again,_ he had vowed, and would keep that vow.

Still, now there was something appearing next to that guilt, another ever-present companion to plague Draco Malfoy's befuddled head- and that was the thought of Astoria Greengrass. For the first time in his life, Draco was utterly awestruck by someone's criticisms of him. He knew it was selfish to be attracted to someone based on their perception of oneself, but then, everyone is selfish in some way or another. If his selfishness materialized in an attempt to regain his pride without losing his new morality, then, well, that was a hell of a lot better than what it had been.

"Draco?"

At a light female voice, he looked up with hope fluttering between his ribs, a disgusting and adolescent feeling he detested but couldn't deny. When his eyes landed on not walnut irises but dark chocolate. And there before him, in all her utter impudence, was Pansy Parkinson. A grimace flitted across his features and he forced himself into a vague composure, trying to create as unaffected an expression as he could manage.

"Hello, Pansy," he greeted her. He wondered why she had phrased his name like a question, as if the two would ever see a day in which they did not recognize each other. It was as stupid as if Harry Potter had questioned who he was- but the comparison was quickly rejected, as Draco made a habit to think of Harry as little as possible.

"What brings you to the Sailor's Tumult?" Pansy asked, staring up at him from beneath her eyelashes. At the realization she was attempting a coy expression, his previous grimace threatened to return. He barely contained it.

"Meeting with a friend," he answered. "She'll be here at seven."

"Waiting for someone else isn't your typical style," Pansy noted, making her voice soft so he was forced to lean in closer. He could smell the vodka on her breath this close, and he held in a cough as she added, "Isn't 'fashionably late' more akin to your family's style?"

"My family's style is not necessarily mine," he replied sharply- too sharp. He saw the rebuke flinch across her features. He had never been _mean_ to Pansy; he hadn't particularly liked her, ever, but she was also the one Slytherin girl who had ever stood up to him. So they had dated for a year, almost two, but it had not been a relationship; he found it hard to form any affectionate urges toward her. Draco's heart during his time at Hogwarts had flitted about but always been repressed by what his family would expect of him. No one outside of Slytherin, no one of mixed blood, someone of the Sacred Twenty-Eight… He could hear his mother's voice now. She hadn't known how much she harmed his chances at gaining any dating experience, and now he was the bachelor thrown about at pureblood parties.

"Well, your family's _money_ has always been your style," Pansy pointed out, a painful reminder of why they had broken up. When Draco hadn't bought her a Christmas present, the ensuing arguments had made it clear Pansy expected him to fully extend the reach of his wealth in her favor. He had refused, and they had parted ways, in agreement only that it was "better this way."

"Pansy, this really isn't the time-" he started to say, but her hands were on her hips and she was giving him the same expression he had seen far too many times, an expression that meant she was 'peeved,' as she would say. _Draco, I'm so_ peeved _with you right now, and I wish you'd stop doing that to me! It's going to raise my blood pressure!_ And then, inevitably, before five more sentences could be uttered, she would scream. Another reason for their breakup.

"It never _is_ a good time with you," she snapped. "Ever since you were favored by the Dark Lord, you've been _too good_ for everyone else. You think you're so high and mighty because you have money and power and _pure blood-_ well so do a lot of the rest of us! And I don't appreciate being treated like last week's spoiled leftovers just because you've made new friends now."

"Have I come at a bad time?"

The voice drew Draco's attention to the porcelain doll now standing next to him and he cringed inwardly at the alarm in her walnut eyes.

 _Of course- the one person I want to see tonight, and now my image in her eyes is tarnished by the person I didn't want to see tonight._

"Who're you?" Pansy snapped, and a surprising ferocity rose in Draco's chest at the tone his ex-girlfriend took with Astoria. Astoria's pallid appearance seemed so delicate, as if a hard poke would cause her to fracture and fall to pieces, and right now he- _no, dummy, not 'needed'-_ 'desired' her. Her presence, that is. His thoughts were all confusing and the bar was too crowded and Pansy was ugly and he just needed-

"Let's go," he said, and surprised all three of them upon taking Astoria's pale, delicate hand in his own and leading her out of the bar. The crowd parted because he shoved them, the same aggressive tendencies he'd always held now surfacing, and he soon burst into the misty London street. Not misty- drizzling. Always drizzling.

"Draco, what happened back there?"

He shook his head. "I ran into an ugly part of my past."

"Now, it's not nice to call a girl ugly, even if she's your ex."

He glanced both ways and then started walking, and Astoria followed as he said, "It isn't because she's my ex; it's because of her personality. She's ugly to everyone, even to me when we were together. Wait- how did you know she was my ex?"

"We were in the same house for five years. It's hard _not_ to notice the dating habits of the loudest boy in the common room."

"Oh, thanks."

"Don't get miffed with me because your night hasn't gone how you wanted it to; I've only just got here, and already we're leaving to Merlin knows where."

He stopped at the second street-corner past the bar, content that Pansy wouldn't follow them this far, and finally took a breath. The night air was sharp with the muggles' automobiles and it was damp as it was sucked down his throat, but it filled his lungs and stretched his ribs and allowed his head to clear. He looked over, seeing walnut eyes filled with confusion and discomfort, and then felt regret twist his heart. _Damn it, Draco, you've done it again._ He had to stop running from his feelings.

"I'm sorry."

"You've apologized to me about five times in the two times I've seen you this week. I'm not as delicate as you might think, or as easily offended." Her voice was so as light and melodic as the rain, he noticed. "I'd just like to know where you're taking me."

He glanced around. He didn't know this area very well, as it wasn't renouned for its wealthy patrons or exquisite delights, and that was what his family usually sought in a venue. He turned to her instead.

"I changed my mind about the Sailor's Tumult even before she showed up," he said, hoping he sounded sincere. "I thought I'd let you pick somewhere you'd like, anywhere, and then we could actually talk."

Her eyebrows rose. "So you decided for me that I would join you tonight, and at what time, but I'm at least getting to choose the venue?"

He nearly agreed, and then heard the sarcasm behind her words. His brow creased. "No- I mean, that's not quite what I'd meant to do. I just wanted to let you pick where we'd go to eat." He sighed, letting out the same short breath of a laugh he'd habitually make when nervous. "I didn't mean to make you feel like you had to come. I wanted to see you again, without the awkwardness of making plans in front of your sister. I- I'm sorry."

"Again with the apologies." But this time she was teasing, and he saw the twinkle in her eye, captured perfectly by the streetlamp just behind them. That fluttering thing happened in his chest again and he wanted to punch himself in the ribs but he couldn't, not here, and it was insane to want to anyhow. Astoria glanced around the streets as well, and then met his eyes. "There's a muggle restaurant not far from here that I rather like, if you're willing to try something I'm sure you've never had before."

The part of him desperate to talk to her again made him almost instantly agree, but the part of him that still had something similar to pride gave need for more information. "That being?"

"Sushi."

* * *

They walked to a more crowded street in the same village, and soon reached a small, well-lit restaurant called 'Kuroyuri'. Draco made a point to the hold the door for her, and soon they sat at a booth not unlike the one from the teashop. Personally, he hoped to spend many more days drinking tea with her, but it was also still too soon for those kinds of thoughts.

He watched how she let her gaze sweep the room, resting on those people caught in the middle of an action, a laugh or a sigh or a yawn, and then take in the entire table at once. She sat down and tucked her shoulders in, so that her elbows rested on her hips, and then straightened her spine and tossed her shoulders back once more, and then he was penetrated by that walnut gaze once more.

"It's a type of flower."

Those were the first words in about ten minutes, and he didn't quite expect them. He gulped quickly. "What?"

"The name of the restaurant," she explained. "It's Japanese; it's a type of flower. The name has two translations in flower language: love, and curse."

He felt that very appropriate, seeing as Astoria seemed like a curse to him right now, the way her words could blindside him when gentle and elevate him when harsh. He had never met someone so open, and yet so reserved. He had no idea how he'd managed to get dinner with her, but he would never complain about it. To him, it seemed a monumental feat, like scaling a mountain or- or ending a war. Perhaps she could lead him to his great victory in life.

"That's fitting," he commented, without meaning to. A hint of a smile danced across her lips, small rosey heart-shaped lips, a contrast to the porcelain around them. He had never had his eyes drawn like that to the shape of a girl's lips, and he didn't quite know how to feel about it.

"Why is that?"

And dammit, she had spoken again, and he was once more forced into responding while still being completely baffled by her very presence. So he said the first thing that came to mind as an adequate response: "Because love can be a curse."

She raised her eyebrows; it clearly hadn't been the answer she'd expected. "Oh? I'd love to hear your thoughts on that. Could you elaborate?"

 _Perhaps another time?_ He longed to say, but couldn't. He had, after all, dragged her out here with him. He let out a small, frustrated sigh. _Come on, Draco; man up. You can talk to a pretty girl without getting tongue-tied. You aren't even here because she's pretty. You're here because of what she has to say. Focus._

But then it came to speaking of love and curses, and Draco's resolve to not lose himself in talking to her melted immediately. "Love is pain and longing and it's all complicated; it's agonizing to love and not be loved in return, so it can be a curse."

"Then why, do you think, do people so ardently chase after it?"

"For the hope of being loved, because love is also the most powerful magic of all."

He wanted to rip out his tongue. He was Draco Malfoy; he had a carefully carved reputation, and he was throwing it out to sound like some poetic idiot. It was worse than that time Weasel-bee was caught under Romilda Vane's love potion; he had regretted going to the loo at midnight _that_ night. And now he sounded worse than Weasel-bee, and he hadn't even the excuse of intoxication via love potion.

"That's good," Astoria said, with the true intent of a compliment. "I never thought you capable of possessing such notions, Draco."

Normally, he would have been insulted; but this was Astoria, and she was very quickly becoming someone he had a hard time being mad at. She had said many things that should have wounded his pride and called for some kind of backlash, but he couldn't bring himself to snap at her. She was too intriguing for him not to come back and find out why.

"I'm capable of many more things than most people would think," he said, and he was glad to be back on the path of conversation he had hoped for. "Which is why-"

But life interfered once more. A well-meaning waiter approached, smiling at both of them. "May I start you off with something to drink?"

 _Muggles,_ Draco thought. _There's a reason Father hates them. But then, don't want to be like Father, do I?_

"Green tea," Astoria answered, smiling sweetly at the waiter. Draco tried not to give in to the twinge of jealousy in his gut, and turned to face the waiter, plastering on a smile.

"I'll have the same."

But his words were still too sharp, knifing through the air. The waiter copied down their drink order and vanished into the crowd in the small restaurant, and Draco turned back to Astoria, hoping she hadn't reason to flinch at his expression. _If I look angry half as often as I feel such,_ he reflected, _she'll think me too rotten ever to help._

"As I was saying," he continued, "Why we're here." _And there goes every grammar lesson Mother ever taught me. I am the shining pride and joy of the Malfoys._ He sighed again. "What I mean is, I dragged you out here because I needed someone to talk to, someone who- who understands me. You seem to, better than anyone else has, and I can't figure that out but I need to hear more from you."

She raised her eyebrows. "You mean you dragged me all the way out here to listen to someone talk about you?"

He met her gaze evenly and hated himself all the more. "Y- yes. I'll make it worth your while, somehow, but I just- I need this. You said yourself I can help people; I need someone to teach me how, and remind me that I can. I'm an idiot when it comes to ethics, we both know that, and I need someone to keep me straight. I'll do what I can to help others, but first, I have to learn how to be the kind of person who _can_ help others."

Her eyebrows rose further, wrinkles appearing in her forehead. "And you think _I_ can do that?"

"I know you can." Conviction lined his voice as he said it. "Astoria, you looked at me and saw everything I refuse to show anyone. If anyone can teach me to be the person I wish I was, I think it's you. No- I _know_ it's you. I can't do it on my own but you seem to know how."

"Draco…" She trailed off, sighing and looking away, and then let her eyes study the pattern of the wooden tabletop as she said, "Let me remind you I live poor on the edge of a bad neighborhood because I failed to express properly my convictions to my wealthy parents. At the expense of my morals, I can have wealth; at the expense of my wealth, I can live by my morals. I really don't think I'm qualified for this."

"Astoria, you have an older sister. Your parents will still feel like they have that success somewhere, even if they can't agree with you. My parents don't have another option- I'm their only son, and they don't love each other enough to produce another. So whatever I do, they have to accept it. I'll fight for whatever you tell me."

Mischief glimmered in her eyes and he felt like he was going to regret asking her to do this. But regret was no hindrance to him, not anymore, because he was far too accustomed to the feeling. His resigned sigh was lost in the din of the restaurant, and then Astoria was speaking once more.

"You have to start by apologizing."

His brow twitched. "To who?"

A wicked grin crossed her pretty face, and he suddenly saw the Slytherin in her for the first time. "To the people you least want to apologize to."

He raised his eyebrows. "The- Death Eaters? I have no reason to-"

" _No,_ silly," she interrupted, and a tinkling laugh came from her rosey lips. "To the Golden Trio."

A chill seemed to freeze over him at the words. The stupid _Golden Trio,_ as they had been heralded by the Daily Prophet and the rest of their generation. Images flashed in his mind of front-page articles and the way everyone had cheered on Harry and his two oafs as heroes, while Draco had been painted as a subvillain, not even bad enough to get thrown in Azkaban, not good enough to get any recognition. He had just been _there,_ a face others would recognize. And why had he to apologize to _them?_

A good question, he thought. " _Why?_ I mean, what am I even apologizing for?"

Her smile didn't flinch under the weight of his tone. "For the insults and the prejudice and the myriad other offenses committed against them. You at least have to apologize to Miss Granger-"

" _No."_

He suppressed a shudder at her name. He had always hated that girl; she was a snobby know-it-all, not even of pureblood- But that thought stopped him. Cross with himself once more, he let his eyes meet Astoria's, and he was awestruck momentarily by the fire there; she was resilient and unbowed, even amid the ice creeping over him.

"You called her a mudblood more times than anyone should," Astoria said quietly, her smile gone but her eyes still bright. "It's no fault of hers who her parents were. Now she's gone and saved the world, and I know you have to feel some kind of remorse for the way you treated her."

The sting of her words caused Draco himself to flinch, and, again, he hated himself for that reaction. He didn't want Astoria to be right, didn't want to admit there was logic behind her words, wanted to pretend it was all just something to be left behind. But he saw the earnestness in her eyes, and it was the only way she would help him, he realized.

"There's no other way, then?"

She shook her head. "You can't just alleviate whatever guilt you feel by doing good; you also have to face what bad you've done."

He wanted to leave. The urge to leap up from the table and forget about dancing walnut eyes and delicate rose-hued lips was overwhelming, but he knew that as soon as he emerged in the street he would turn around and rush back in, and then it would be too late. No, he couldn't leave. He was trapped already.

"Astoria," he sighed, hating how he loved the way her name danced across his lips, "I never see her, and I don't even know where to start looking for her. How can I apologize to someone I never even see?"

Astoria's eyebrows rose. "You expect me to believe you have no idea where Hermoine Granger is?"

"Yes, I expect you to believe that! It's the truth!"

But she was having none of his protesting. Astoria sat back, folding her dainty arms across her chest. "Well, then. I guess I can't help you, if you can't even find _one person_ with all the resources you have available."

A sharp retort rested on the tip of his tongue and it was all he could do to bite it back. His face had hardened into a scowl; he didn't want anything more to do with Astoria. He was about to rise from the table, leave the restaurant, disappear-

 _As a Malfoy, your reputation and money allows you to do something about that._

The words that had captured him before returned to his mind once more. Subdued, resigned, and accepting his fate, he simply nodded.

"Very well. I'll find her, and I'll apologize. _But_ you have to come with me."

Astoria's smile was one of triumph. "That, I _can_ do."


	3. chocolate

**Chapter Three**

" _True remorse is never just a regret over a consequence; it is a regret over motive."_

The Ministry of Magic is a bustling place at its most relaxed, and a congestion of activity and noise at its worst times. Those who desire not for an active life do not make a habit of visiting such places; those who live poor in a flat with one friend at the edge of London do _not_ go to such places without absolutely having to. Astoria _had_ to.

She was certain that Hermoine Granger, the smartest girl she'd ever met (in this case, _actually_ smart, not just intelligent), would understand the reason behind Draco's sudden, two-years-late apology. Astoria had to believe there was a reason for all of this, that it wasn't just- well, she wouldn't even consider the alternative. This simply _had_ to work.

"Where do we go now?" Astoria asked, having reached the main entrance to the Ministry of Magic. Draco stood stiffly next to her, as if well aware of the stares they garnered in arriving together, in arriving at all. She had spent precious little time in the Ministry, as little as possible in fact, and didn't relish the idea of spending another day here; still, it was the easiest place to find Hermoine- or someone who would know where to look. It was common knowledge by now that Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were aurors after their time at Hogwarts, meaning they had to be here somewhere- unless they were on a field mission. A frown played at her lips; there was still the chance none of the Golden Trio were here, and this was all an exercise of futility, but she had to hope this was not the case. And Astoria Greengrass, having never been quite bold, had nearly _always_ been hopeful.

"This way," Draco answered, offering an arm to her. She tucked her fingers around the crook of his arm, and they began walking. The stares of Ministry workers pricked at the edge of her vision, from those she recognized and those she didn't, and she was reminded once more that Draco Malfoy's superiority complex was not entirely unwarranted. His family had been cause for stares and gossip and Daily Prophet articles for decades, likely even centuries, and it couldn't be a true surprise that he let that get to his head as a child.

Astoria fought to keep her feet shuffling along in sync with his, feeling her cheeks take a rosy hue from all of the stares. She wanted to tuck in closer to Draco, hoping to hide her own timidity behind his air of unaffected purpose, but pricks of fear sparked in her rib-cage that walking closer to him would result in stumbling, and that would be even worse.

"Don't let anyone see that they get to you."

His words were quiet and crisp, barely shifting his lips, but they were exactly what Astoria needed. Her nod was minute, and she let her eyes point straight ahead, taking in nothing as she simply walked next to Draco. She had intended to be the one pushing him today; instead, she felt far from her comfort zone.

The two traipsed through the Ministry of Magic as if it were beneath them. Astoria recognized she must look like she was as haughty and arrogant as her escort, but at the moment she couldn't do anything about it. Except, of course, to allow him to go on alone, in which case no progress would be made and this whole uncomfortable day would be made that much more humiliating. So she kept walking, one foot in front of the other, left-right-left-right, eyes straight ahead. _Don't let anyone see that they get to you._

They rounded a corner and entered a narrow hallway, walking stiffly down it. Less paparazzi followed them here; in fact, they were nearly alone. They continued downward, and Astoria found the "press" flanking them were no longer trying to take their photograph, but actually pacing between rooms. By the time she realized they were in the Daily Prophet's hall, she felt ridiculous for not realizing it sooner.

"Draco," she asked softly, "Why are we here?"

"You'll see," he said, heaving a sigh. They reached a room with a plaque reading SPORTS over the door, and he raised a pale fist, rapping it against the black wood. After a moment, a deep feminine voice came from the other side:

"Come in!"

He grasped the doorknob in slender fingers, and closed his eyes for a moment. Without turning the knob, he breathed, "Astoria, do I _have_ to do this?"

"Yes, Draco. You must."

With a gusty exhale, he turned the knob and opened the door. Inside was a small office, cut almost in half by a long wooden desk littered with parchment and photographs. Sitting behind it, in a very comfortable maroon armchair, was a girl with red hair, bright green eyes, and a smattering of fawn-colored freckles on her pale cheeks. She looked up at the two and her eyes flew wide, and then narrowed in unleashed fury.

"Malfoy," she said, her voice flat. "What are you doing here."

There was no inflection to the question; the girl quite obviously hated him. Astoria's eyes read the nameplate on the desk: Ginevra Weasley. _That explains why she hates him,_ Astoria thought. She gave Draco's arm a brief squeeze, and he glanced back at her. Their eyes met, crystal and walnut, ice and warmth, and the look of unbridled distaste in Draco's eyes made Astoria shrink back some. She couldn't help it; she'd always been easily intimidated, and this all had swallowed up her yearly supply of boldness.

But then Draco turned, his eyes falling back on Ginny Weasley. He straightened up, and his voice exuded calm when he spoke. "I need to speak to Granger. I didn't know how else to find her."

Shock widened the Weasley girl's eyes again, and she slowly set down the quill she'd been holding when they walked in. She clasped her hands over her parchment, staring up at Draco. "Why."

Draco's jaw clenched and unclenched. "I have to- I'd _like_ to apologize to her."

A glimmer of amusement entered Ginny's eyes. "Not your idea, I take it?" Ginny's glimmering green eyes turned to Astoria. "How'd you get him to agree?"

"He's trying to be a better person," Astoria answered, her heart in her throat. She had seen Ginny fight; the girl might not remember her, but Astoria would never forget the fierce Gryffindor facing off against Bellatrix Lestrange. And again, Astoria was easily intimidated.

"Interesting. You think that's possible?"

"War changes people," Astoria answered simply.

Ginny turned to Draco. "You know the Leaky Cauldron?"

"No," Draco scoffed. Astoria could see him already judging the place by its name alone.

"I do," she answered quickly.

"I'll get Hermoine to meet you two there for lunch. I can't promise she'll stay, but I can at least get her to come. Be there at noon."

"Alright." Draco turned to go back out of the door, and Astoria caught his arm. He turned to her with exasperated confusion in his eyes. "What?"

Astoria raised her eyebrows emphatically, gesturing to Ginny with a nod.

Draco closed his eyes briefly, clenching his jaw again, and then turned to Ginny. "Thanks, Weasley."

"No problem _at all."_

As they walked out of the narrow hallway, Astoria caught Draco's arm again. He glared down at her. "Was all that truly necessary?"

"Absolutely."

Noon was approaching when the fever kicked in.

Astoria swallowed down panic at the realization her skin was warm, though she shivered in the summer afternoon. She and Draco were walking to the Leaky Cauldron; she couldn't shake the sudden dizziness plaguing her. Her heart thudded, too-fast, _pump-pump-pump-pump,_ too-fast, against her ribs. She knew this feeling, and she didn't have time for it, and the anxiety was only making it worse.

"Astoria, are you okay?"

Draco sounded far away, underwater, and when she spoke, her voice seemed to echo in empty space. "I'm fine."

He stopped walking and she stumbled to a halt; his arm flew out, her shoulder bumping into the bony forearm, and she turned to look at him. The edges of her vision had become murky, and she forced herself to focus on his eyes. _Lovely eyes,_ she reflected, inebriated by the illness. _I could stare into those eyes for all the days of eternity._ _Perhaps some of the nights, too._

"Astoria, you are _not_ fine," he protested. "Come over here; let's sit down."

Muggles shuffled by on the street as Draco all but carried her to the bench. Astoria could feel herself fading in and out; she tried to focus on her breathing, but it was coming too shallow, and that was making her heartbeat too noticeable again. _Pump-pump-pump. Too-fast, too-fast._ When she tried to take a deep breath, it felt like her lungs had filled with cotton; the air had no room to go in.

"Astoria, what's going on?"

She couldn't answer his question because she could barely hear it. Her vision had gone all dark, the street vanishing steadily, and she didn't know if he had actually asked the question. Wooziness claimed her as the world shifted to the side, and, quite suddenly, to Astoria's best knowledge there was no longer a world _to_ shift.

Something damp and cold pressed to the back of her neck. A snatch of words reached her ears: _Will she be alright? What happened? Is she okay?_

And then it was the blackness again. A din of murky conversation, distant and foggy, across the swamp of darkness that held her captive, barely reached her ears. No light existed here; only dark confusion. _Focus on your breathing, Astoria. Breathe- in, out- in, out-_

And then the blackness.

Suddenly, there was fog. It was no longer night; it couldn't be, if there was light enough to see the fog. Something cool touched her, but she couldn't figure out where. Floating, floating, lost in space… _Find gravity again._

A sound came through the din, a voice: "Astoria, wake up, please. You must wake up; I have no idea how to help you. _Please,_ wake up."

There: gravity. That voice. The anchor began to pull her back, the tides receding as she focused on the words: _Wake up, please. Just open your eyes. Tell me how to help. You just- you just fainted. How do I help?_

Her eyes flitted open, the murky gray giving way to unfocused color, blobs of nondescript shape, mostly gray. There- splashes of ice, pale blue. _Blue,_ she thought, focusing on the orbs. They blended together and parted; she let her eyes narrow in on just one, then. The star gleamed through the gray, a splotch of color among the bleakness, and shapes began to form. The center of the blue was black- a circle- and around the blue was white- a pointed ellipse. Outside of the ellipse was a soft cream color; skin, her brain translated. _Good- getting back to working order._

"Astoria? Can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up? Can you speak?"

"Stop, you'll overwhelm her!"

A second voice. She thought she recognized them. The second was a girl, someone she… Knew? Had known? A friend? Not an enemy, if they're trying to help.

"Give her space," the second voice demanded, and the blue drifted away, disappearing from focus. Panic swelled in Astoria's throat; _no- come back. I need the blue._ She was almost there, but if she lost her anchor, the tide would pull her away again.

She tried to speak, and a mumbled sound emitted instead. The blue returned, and a cool sensation landed on her skin- _where?-_ on her hand. She tried to catch onto it; she didn't know if her hand actually moved, but dammit, she had tried. The cool feeling spread over her hand, enveloping it, and she felt confident she had somehow moved so he knew to stay. _He-_ the blue would be his eyes, then.

She let her eyes close a moment longer, and the rushing in her head washed out through her ears, the pressure evaporating. Just like that, the whole miasmic ordeal had ended.

Astoria opened her eyes, blinking rapidly until they focused. Sitting next to her, on a bench she thought, was Draco, staring down at her with desperation. "Astoria?"

"I'm good," she mumbled, her foggy voice barely audible even to her. She smacked her lips, fighting to keep her eyes focused on him as she repeated, "I'm good."

"Here, give her this."

That was the second voice again. Astoria looked farther away; off to the side, truly very near to the bench, was Hermoine Granger. _How lucky,_ Astoria thought. Behind Hermoine, a flash of fire showed where Ginny Weasley stood, but that was too far away. Astoria turned to Draco, realizing their hands were clasped. If she'd had the energy, she would have blushed. Draco took something from Hermoine and held it out to Astoria.

"Eat this; you'll feel better."

She parted her lips, and the morsel of whatever it was landed in her mouth. She forced herself to chew, and a sweet, rich flavor filled her mouth. _Chocolate,_ she realized. She remembered how Hermoine would have known chocolate helped; Professor Lupin, Astoria's first-year Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, had insisted upon the benefits of chocolate in any situation. Shame he'd resigned; she'd always liked him, and then he died.

The fog was receding more actively now. Astoria swallowed down the treat, and Draco squeezed her hand. "Astoria, what happened?"

"Long story," she muttered, propping herself up on her elbow. Dizziness rushed back into her head, and she forced herself all the way up. For a second, a hurricane flurried between her ears, and she had to raise her hands, clamping the sides of her head to feel anchored once more. _You're here. You're okay. You made it. You're here. You're okay. You made it. You're here…_

The hurricane finally ended, and she moved her hands down, looking up at the two Gryffindors and the Slytherin all sitting next to her. To think, all the muggles walking by remained ignorant of the magical folk around them. Astoria sat back some on the bench, turning to Draco.

"My family is cursed with frailty. Fainting spells aren't as dramatic as they seem. That one was actually quite mild."

His eyes widened. "You can't seriously tell me that's a normal happening for you. You went pale as a ghost, and just kind of- fell."

She could see the confusion in his eyes and knew she owed him more of an explanation. A sigh gusted through her, and she met his eyes. "I promise, Draco, I'll explain in more depth later. Right now, I'm still recovering."

His eyes asked a billion questions, but he kept them restrained so they never met his lips. "Have it your way, then."

"Go ahead and talk to Hermoine; I'm just going to rest a moment."

Draco nodded and rose to his feet, turning to the bushy-haired witch, who stood with her arms folded across her chest and an indignant impatience in her pretty brown eyes.

"Well?" She asked expectantly. Astoria tried not to chuckle at the amusement in Ginny's barely-suppressed smirk.

Draco took a deep breath. "Um… I- I wanted to apologize. I gave you hell for six years, and you didn't deserve it." Hermoine's eyebrows crawled toward her hairline; Astoria noticed Draco pick up speed with his apology. "None of you did. I was prejudiced and ignorant and- and a right _git,_ thanks to my parents brainwashing me as a child. I heard my dad complain about mudbloods and Harry Potter, and I didn't know there was any reason to side against him until- until I was in the middle of it all. It was too late then, I thought, but Astoria has made me realize it's never too late to at least apologize. So, I'm sorry, and I understand if you never forgive me. I'm not asking that. I just- I just need you to know that I regret being the person I was during our years at Hogwarts. And I ask that you never- never tell _Potter."_

He all but spat the name.

"I'm trying to be a changed man, but he will never hear an apology from me."

A laugh bubbled out of Hermoine, gaining momentum, and she had to swallow it down and clear her throat. Disbelief shone in her eyes. "Well then, Draco, this will stay between us. I can't promise that Ginny won't say anything, though; she does love to gossip."

"Do not!" The redhead protested, and Hermoine sent her a grin.

"I'll see you around, and- well, no hard feelings, I suppose."

Draco nodded briskly, and Hermoine turned to Ginny, who said, "Can we go now, then? I'm starving, and I've only got half an hour before I have to get back."

Hermoine turned back to look at Draco. "Was that all you needed?"

"I- yes," he stammered. "That was all. You go ahead; I wouldn't want to keep you."

"Well, thank you," Hermoine said, before turning to Ginny. "Come on, Gin. Let's go eat."

The two girls walked off, disappearing down the street. They had spent all their time together in their shared seventh year, and Astoria had envied their easy friendship. She had her friends, of course, but they were limited; no Gryffindors wanted to befriend the Slytherins, and she didn't particularly care for any Slytherins. She turned to Draco.

"Draco?"

He met her eyes, the crystal blue that had anchored her seeming to stare into her soul. Her heartbeat quickened, for a different reason this time. "Yes, Astoria?"

"I'm proud of you."

He smiled. "I am, too."


	4. coffee

_A quick temper will make a fool out of you soon enough._

Draco lay awake for long hours that night.

He had expected as much, but the reason caught him by surprise. Expressing remorse to Hermoine Granger had easily been the worst moment since he'd left Hogwarts; but what bothered him more than that was the state of poor health in which Astoria seemed to be. Fainting like that was simply not normal, not good- not something he wanted for her. He wanted her pale skin flushed with life, her walnut eyes bright with vitality, her lips to never turn that deathly pale blue shade they had been today. Fear and concern filled him to unprecedented extents; he had never faced such intense worry. He tried to tell himself it was only due to her being the only one that could help him, that the alternative was- was foolish. She would never- and he didn't want her to.

But the memory of her small hand clasped in his, his long fingers wrapped around her tiny palm, of her squeezing his hand while she was unconscious, wouldn't leave his mind. Her walnut eyes staring at his eyes as though they were all that existed, that look seemed burned into his consciousness, so that in every waking moment he was remember the beautiful brown eyes-

But no, he wouldn't call them that. Not _beautiful._ They were the color of walnuts, plain, brown-

As sleep began to draw him into its clutches, he found his last thoughts to be that if anything in this world were beautiful, it would have to be something like walnuts.

Dawn carried a rose-gold glow in through the curtains. Morning had been a new day for Draco, a new opportunity to do something good with his life, a fresh start. It had always held the comfort of forgetting the previous day's trials, at least for a time.

On this day, there was no such comfort.

He woke as worried as he'd slept, his mind drifting- no, zooming- immediately to a pallid face, an unconscious girl, a pair of walnut eyes. He was concerned for her; he needed answers. And if there was one woman in the world who knew far too much about everyone, well, that would be his mother.

Draco stayed in bed a little longer, debating the conversation he knew was now inevitable. He had to know; Astoria had promised to talk to him about it, but he didn't know when he'd see her again. Uncertainty had never been a comfortable companion of his and he saw only one way to relieve himself of it. With considerable and competent reluctance, he finally forced himself out of bed to face the herculean task before him.

As Draco entered the Malfoys' dining room, he at least attempted to crush the parts of his brain convincing him his concern for Astoria was less to do with what she could do for him and more to do with that insufferable adolescent flutter his chest did when their eyes met. He was Draco Malfoy, for Merlin's sake, not some blithering schoolgirl- but try as he might, he couldn't seem to repress the notion that Astoria held potential to quickly become someone whom he valued very, very much.

He released a sigh as inconspicuous as he could make at the thought and took a seat. His father waited at the head of the table, reading the Daily Prophet with a scowl. His mother sat across the table from Draco's place, at his father's left-hand side, primly sipping her tea. She looked as disinterested as ever in their dark dining room, with its black tile floors and black brocade wallpaper and black table. Draco had heard it told that his father had adjusted the few parts of Malfoy Manor that weren't completely void of color upon marrying a woman of the Black family; the dark coloring was meant to pay homage to Lucius's wife's maiden name, but Draco recalled a time when his mother had eyed the black walls with distaste. _Draco,_ said she then, _If the chance comes that you live apart from Malfoy Manor, let your wife decorate. Some women_ do _like color, no matter how colorless their name._

Astoria Greengrass had a vibrant name indeed, all flora. Draco had never been a fan of bright colors, or of floral patterns, but he noted if she wanted that in the future it was all hers. She was light and bright and incandescent, all color- but it was pallor that had him distressed for her. _What am I thinking?_ He scolded himself, catching himself; he wouldn't- couldn't- allow such thoughts in his mind. No matter how colorful the girl may be, they had barely been acquaintances at Hogwarts, and a week and a half of getting to know each other more in-depth didn't warrant thoughts of floral wallpapers and vibrant names.

"What is it, darling?"

His eyes had become as clouded as their blue-gray hue, and he shot his gaze to his mother's, trying to rid his mind of the thoughts. He had hoped they'd evaporate, but it seemed the weight of such thoughts was more akin to stones than mist. "Nothing, Mother. Just thinking about something."

"That being?" Lucius asked, not looking up from the paper.

Draco's jaw clenched. Whether or not to tell them was still a matter of debate; his parents could be condescending of even the best folk, the war had proven that, and he doubted Astoria was their cup of tea. She was too light, even for a Slytherin.

"Do you know the Greengrasses?" He finally asked, forcing himself to place his fingertips on the fine- too-fine- silver fork next to his plate. He punctured the omelette lying on the porcelain, and then allowed the fork to carve a slice into the omelette, removing a triangle of it. He speared this on the fork as his mother replied.

"Of course, darling. They're a family of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Why do you ask?"

He let his eyes trace the pattern of the cooked egg, seeing where the pan had seared the yellow sustenance. "What do you know about them?"

Avoiding his mother's questions never lasted long, and he knew he'd eventually have to let her know what prompted him to make such inquiries, but for the moment he was spared an explanation. His mother, however, launched into her gossip.

"They're a cursed bunch. I didn't know until I witnessed Magdala Greengrass pass clean out at one of my mother's parties. They're odd folk; apparently, there's some curse of frailty that causes their bodies to be weaker than most. The things that strengthen most people wear them out, and if they endure stress for too long, they'll faint. The women especially lack strong character." A twinge of irritation twisted Draco's gut at these words, but he didn't say anything, instead stuffing another bite of omelette into his mouth. "They aren't known for their fighting abilities or boldness; there have been few women in that family who have done anything extraordinary, and the men, too, aren't particularly talented. They aren't bad people, to be sure; they share the same values that we do. Pure of blood, pure society. Slytherins every one of them. I believe Magdala's eldest daughter Daphne was in your class, was she not, Draco?"

"She was."

"Is that why you ask? Have you come back into contact with her?" He saw the hope flaring in his mother's eyes, a hungry desire for her only son to provide her a daughter-in-law. "She's eligible, you know- Daphne's unmarried-"

"Mother," he interrupted, "It's not Daphne."

"Don't cut your mother off when she's speaking, boy," Lucius snapped, whacking Draco over the back of the head with the now rolled-up Daily Prophet.

"Sorry, Father," Draco said, keeping his voice flat.

"If it's not Daphne, then why do you care?"

He swallowed quickly. _If they say one word against Astoria, I'm going back to stay with Aunt Andromeda._ "I ran into Daphne's sister, Astoria, the other day while I was out for lunch. It had started to rain and I ducked into a teashop, and she was there. We chatted for a few minutes, and I found she's much more lively than I remembered."

His parents exchanged a slow glance, and then Narcissa reached out, placing her fingertips on Draco's knuckles. "Darling, Astoria has been kicked out of her home. Apparently, she's of a- _sympathetic-_ mindset about the whole muggle thing."

"You know I am, too," Draco protested, his temper bleeding into his tone. "And she wasn't kicked out; she left. She disagreed with her parents, and they fought too much. She lives with a friend now."

"In the poor part of London," Narcissa added, unnecessarily. He could see that she spoke from a place of concern, but it was misplaced, he was sure. "She's not exactly what we had in mind for you-"

"I didn't say I was going to marry her; I just said I ran into her. I'm not just here to breed. My sole existence is not intended only for that." He cut himself off, taking a quick breath. "I'm only asking because she fainted the last time I saw her, just out of the blue. We had been walking and then I noticed she'd gone pale and seemed dazed, and barely a minute later she passed out. She said something about her family being cursed with frailty and promised to explain more later, but she didn't get the chance to yesterday and I've been worrying about it since."

He was admitting too much, and he saw it in their faces. Both his mother and his father stared at him with vague disapproval, and then irritation flickered in his father's eyes before Lucius said, "Yesterday? You said you were going to the Ministry yesterday, to speak with Mr. Clondin-"

"And so I did go to the Ministry, but it wasn't to speak to him. Astoria and I had business there." He rose to his feet, still irritated. "And even if I did choose to marry a girl of a more ' _sympathetic'_ mindset, that shouldn't be your concern. Astoria's proven to be a very impressive woman in the short time that I've really known her, and you should be proud of me if I were to manage to snag that one. She's too good for me, too good for this family. It doesn't matter if her views differ from yours because they match mine, and it doesn't matter if she's poor because I've got enough money to buy a hat for every muggle in London and still have enough to live off of for the rest of my life."

"Not yet you don't," Lucius snapped, also rising. He glared down at his son, and Draco stared defiantly back. "And you won't see a galleon of it if you take that tone with me or your mother again, boy."

"Then don't speak badly of Astoria. She doesn't deserve your condescension."

With that, he turned and strode out of the dining room, ignoring his parents' protests that he should return and eat his breakfast and _Listen to me when I"m calling you, boy! -Draco, darling, come back! -The girl isn't worthy of being a Malfoy; why are you so mad about it? -I never did understand those temper flares._ If he had a temper, so be it. This time, it was something reasonable to be mad about. They didn't understand- couldn't understand- the effect Astoria had on him. So maybe he _was_ falling for her pretty eyes and honest words and delicate laugh, so _what,_ she helped him, and that didn't change anything about the relationship they currently held. She was the person who could make him the person he wanted to be. She was the person he _wanted_ to help him become that person. And he wouldn't stand to listen to someone disapprove of her based on the fact she stood by her opinions, even if it meant being poor. She was stronger for it. He snorted contemptuously as he strode down the London streets; _Greengrass women aren't that bold._ Astoria was more bold than his mother could ever dream to be. She wasn't afraid of him, of anything, and she told it like it was. She was incredible.

And he hoped she knew that. If not, well, he'd just have to tell her more.

* * *

The block that held Malfoy Manor was lined with several other opulent ancient houses of similar gaudiness, and he knew somewhere along the next block was the Greengrass abode. He didn't exactly know what he planned to do to find out which house it was; waiting on the street-corner in hopes of seeing Daphne didn't seem like the best plan. As he reached the street, he found himself still at a loss.

As luck would have it, however, he spotted someone down the way who could help- not Daphne, he was a Malfoy, not that lucky, but someone potentially just as helpful: Neville Longbottom. (Though whether the awkward oaf would help Malfoy was another question.) He remembered Astoria listing Neville as a friend, and he hoped that meant Neville could help him find her. Draco picked up his pace, lengthening his strides as he strolled briskly down the way.

Neville moved to turn the corner, and Draco began to jog, calling, "Longbottom!"

The curly-haired boy- _man,_ Draco mentally corrected, Neville was no longer an awkward boy- halted and stumbled backward, turning to look. At the sight of Malfoy running at him, the Gryffindor gasped and began to walk again.

"No, wait! I need your help!"

Confusion was obvious on Neville's face even from a distance and Draco cursed himself for getting this bad so quickly. What kind of weakling got this desperate for a girl this quickly? He would never ask _Neville Longbottom_ for help. But he'd also never apologize to Hermoine Granger, or snap at his parents for insulting a muggle-sympathizer. There were many things "Draco Malfoy" would never do, and yet, he had done them all in the past twenty-four hours.

"Wh- what?" Neville asked, as Draco came to a panting halt a meter away from the curly-haired boffin who, Draco remembered, had beheaded Voldemort's snake Nagini. By now, Draco knew what a truly monumental feat that was; the snake had slaughtered Professor Snape, an excellent wizard, and was one of the Dark Lord's horcruxes. So perhaps Draco should stop thinking of Neville as a boffin, as awkward, a child. In many ways, Neville Longbottom was far superior to Draco. This admittance would never be uttered allowed, but Draco did allow himself an increased respect for the man before him, the man Draco had never allowed himself to consider getting to know.

"Can- can you help me with something?" Draco asked. "I know you have no reason to, but I promise you, it's for a good cause. An _actual_ good cause. Like the kind that you fight for."

"Fought for," Neville corrected, staring at Draco in wary confusion. "I'm a herbologist now."

"Oh," Draco amended, "My apologies. I was just- I- ah." He cleared his throat. "I was thinking about when you beheaded Nagini. I'm sorry; I'm not the same snob I was at Hogwarts and I'm still trying to get used to that so I don't really know how to talk to anyone, especially someone like you."

A surprisingly defensive glint entered Neville's eyes, his expression twisting to match. "Someone like me? What's that s'posed to mean?"

"Someone far more moral and brave for far longer than myself."

Not the answer he'd expected and it showed on Neville's face. "Oh. Well, what did you need help with?"

Draco sighed. He felt like a lovesick fool. A right idiot. But he'd come this far, and, well, it would be even more humiliating to turn back. No one would then know of this awkward encounter, but he would never forget. "I need to find Astoria Greengrass. She- well, she's helping me become a better person. She said she lives somewhere on the west side of London, in a flat with a friend. Do you, by chance, know where that is?"

"No."

Draco felt his hope plummet, falling like a stone into the newly-dug pit in his stomach. All this humiliation, all this embarrassment- and for what? For nothing. Neville couldn't help, and Draco should really have never asked, never left home- never fallen so fast for walnut eyes-

"But I know who her friend is," Neville said. "I can help you find her."

And just like that, hope had blossomed in Draco's chest once more. His eyes lit as he found himself over-all brightened. "Really? That'd be great!"

"N- no problem. Are you okay?"

"Not at all," Draco answered. "Never better."

Neville just nodded once, the words _He's gone bonkers_ painted on his pale face. Draco knew he must seem absolutely insane; he felt giddy and hollow and nauseous and enthusiastic, all at once. He had never truly experienced the thrill of feeling this way, not about anyone. It wasn't that he was in love with her; it was the knowledge that he could very easily fall for her, and that she was _good,_ and that falling for her would be _good._ He had never experienced anything like it, and the thrill of it all had him both cursing his stupid heart and not caring a bit how mad he might seem.

"Well, shall we apparate, then?"

"Of course." 

They appeared on a street called Downy Lane. It was three streets over from The Sailor's Tumult, though Draco had never actually walked this part of town. It was all but vacant, with very few muggles walking the sidewalks. Neville began walking, and Draco followed as Neville said, "This way. Her flat-mate works part-time at a muggle restaurant not far from here."

Draco walked on a stride behind Neville. "Doesn't that get difficult, seeing as she's a witch?"

Neville shrugged. "Doesn't seem to matter to her."

Silence stretched between them, but Neville set such a brisk pace that it wasn't considerable potent. Draco eyed the Gryffindor. "So, what were you doing when I called out to you?"

To his surprise, Neville's cheeks flushed red. Draco was debating apologizing for asking when Neville said, "I, um- there's a girl training to become a herbologist like me, and she's- she lives on that street."

"Who is she? I know most of the people in that neighborhood." _Because they're all purebloods and I was forced to meet them._ But he didn't find that appropriate to add.

"Hannah Abbott."

Draco remembered her: a quiet redhaired girl from Hufflepuff. Draco also vaguely remembered Neville dancing with another redhead girl at the Yule Ball in fourth year- but that had been Ginny Weasley. He'd thought Neville and Luna Lovegood had something going, but it was safe to say Draco had been wrong before, would be wrong again.

"I haven't spoken to her much," Draco said. "But that's mostly because she's a much nicer girl than I am." Neville gave him an odd look, and Draco corrected, "Nicer _person,_ I meant. I- as I said, I can't talk lately."

"I'm gathering that. If it's any consolation, this is just as awkward for you as it is for me."

"I'm so sorry. If I had another way, I'd save us both from this situation."

Neville shook his head. "That's quite alright, if you're truly trying to change. I'm happy to help."

"Thanks, Neville. You always were unexpectedly helpful." Draco cursed himself again, this time for having been a prat for so long. "I don't mean that sarcastically, I promise."

"Sure."

He decided it was better that he didn't talk.

They strode on in silence, Draco making no attempt toward further conversation. It simply wasn't worth all the self-humiliating. Shame burned under his skin; all his life, Draco had been groomed into the perfect snob, never familiar with the concept of modesty, of admitting anyone's superiority over him, and now in only nine days a girl had effectively destroyed his ego. The truly mad aspect was the fact of how much he wanted to keep letting her. Destroy him, strip away the doubt, the guilt, the temper, the snobbery, make him a person he could be proud of.

He couldn't completely blame Astoria.

Draco's pride had been obliterated two years ago; he'd just held on to the idea of it. That was what it came down to: he wasn't proud of himself anymore. It's hard to be a snob when one has nothing to prop them up except the empty words of their parents.

It was no wonder, he thought, as they strode down the streets and a fine London drizzle began to fall, that Astoria had so quickly gotten under his skin. Perhaps he'd been deceiving himself to claim it her physical appearance; his affinity for her had nothing to do with walnut eyes or porcelain skin or rosy lips. It was all to do with her world-view, a view he hoped to one day share. The view from where he stood now seemed to hold only the walls of a well, growing taller as the bottom fell out from under him; he had to reach higher ground before he sank completely. If there existed a single entity which could effectively elevate him before the total loss of hope, he was certain it was Astoria.

A diner appeared on the corner and Neville strode forward, opening the door. He walked through and kept his arm behind him to hold the door open; Draco swept through, mumbling his thanks to Neville, who allowed the door to now swing closed with both wizards inside.

A girl stood in a waitress uniform, her dark chocolate eyes bright as she set down two steaming cups of dark liquid- tea or coffee, he couldn't tell- on the table before an elderly muggle couple. Likely tea, for customers that old. The girl looked over, her bushy brown curls bouncing, and pleasant surprise flitted across her face as she spotted Neville. The pleasantness of her surprise obviously evaporated as she saw Draco next to him. The Malfoy grimaced, jaw clenching and brow twitching; he knew he deserved her disdain, but that made it no easier to bear seeing that expression every time someone not after his wealth looked at him. He had been an ass, he got that; let's put it behind us, shall we? But no, we shan't, not yet. He suppressed a frustrated groan.

"I'll be right back," the girl promised her customers before walking over. Her beige cheeks were pulled into a forced grin as she approached the two. "Neville. What brings you and- er, _him_ here?"

 _I have a name. That name is Draco. Everyone knows that name._ He did his best not to sigh.

"Draco's looking for Astoria," Neville explained. "You still live with her, don't you?"

"Well, yes, but I can't just give him her address without her knowledge," the girl protested, half-laughing.

"Please, I need to see her," Draco said. "It's urgent. Life and death."

It wasn't, but his heart was feeding him words. Stabbing himself in the chest seemed an acceptable alternative to existing at that moment. But then, if he died, he'd never see _her_ again, and that simply wasn't an option right now. He had to see her. He needed to be reminded of her vigor and passion and contradictory nature; she was so complex and made it all seem so simple. She was more bold than he'd expected and yet shrank away from an angry glare. Her fragility was inherited, yet she held her convictions with the strength of a thousand giants. And he was getting carried away again. Damnable romantic brain; he'd always tried to do away with that part of him, and yet it existed still, repressed for so long that now it was forcing its way out, fighting to the front, refusing to be squashed back into the dark recesses of his haunted mind. _Go away, go away, go away._ But it wouldn't.

"Life and death?" The girl's repetition of his stressed words dragged Draco from his internal turmoil, back to the present, to the diner where two people who didn't like him were being commissioned to help him. "What could possible be so important?"

"I- I just need to speak with her. Can't you, I don't know, send a patronus or something and ask her?"

"Not so loud!" The girl whispered. "This is a muggle joint! I can't very well send an ethereal white bear storming through London!"

"Muggles don't see anything," Draco protested, careful to keep his tone hushed like hers. "They don't even see the Night Bus storming through the streets."

"Why do you think that is?" Neville asked, honest curiosity in his voice. "I've never understood how they can be so oblivious."

 _And how can you? I'm in dire circumstances here, don't sidetrack my salvation!_ He was getting ever-more frustrated at the dense, thick-headed, easily distracted-

"I've got to go. This was a mistake."

He turned and strode out. He couldn't do this. It was all too much, too horrible of an idea, too frustrating, too humiliating, too- too-

Walnut eyes with golden fleck stared at him in surprise, widened with expression.

"Draco! Fancy meeting you here."

 **oooooooooooo**

 **AN: Thank you for the lovely reviews! Please don't be afraid to keep them coming!**


	5. honey

_Even a bitter soul can be sweetened with the right dose of honey._

Astoria was as surprised as anyone to find Draco at a muggle diner, and wondered if it could be a coincidence that Neville Longbottom stood inside next to Edna. "Do you frequent impoverished muggle establishments often these days, or is this just a coincidence?"

"Not a coincidence," he sighed. She could see the anger flickering in his eyes, dying out as quickly as she'd spotted it. Cool resignation took its place. "I was looking for you, actually. Neville was trying to help me by asking your flat-mate."

Astoria's eyebrows shifted upward. He had gone to such lengths as to ask Neville Longbottom to help him, just to see her? _Don't read into that. It doesn't mean what you think. He's a Malfoy._ The mental reminder did nothing to lessen the fluttering of her heart. "Oh. Well, you- you find me. I was just bringing Edna her jumper; she left it this morning, didn't think it would rain." Astoria laughed nervously and it sounded as forced as it was. "It's London; it always rains."

"That it does," Draco said. She couldn't tell if he was nervous or irritated or just uninterested, but his voice had lost the usual inflections and unsuppressable emotions it usually had around her. Her brows twitched inward, a small crease appearing between them.

"Draco, is everything okay?"

"Can I- could you- I mean, can I wait out here while you bring your friend her jumper, and then could I speak to you?"

"You don't have to wait outside in the rain-"

"I do." He nodded emphatically. "No way am I going back in there."

"Oh- okay," she stammered, confusion mingling with curiosity. She gave him a quick nod in return. "Not a problem, I guess."

She pushed open the door, striding past him into the restaurant, and walked to where Neville and Edna stood next to the counter of the diner's bar. She glanced back out the glass door at Draco, his fair hair growing darker from the rain, and then looked at her friends. "What's his problem?"

"No idea," Edna said. "He came in looking for you, said it was urgent, a matter of life and death, and then when I didn't immediately give him our address he just stormed out after saying," she dropped her voice, apparently in imitation, "'This was a mistake.' Neville and I have no idea what his deal is. Neville says you've been trying to help him be a better person, or something to that effect…?"

"That's not _untrue,"_ Astoria admitted. Her flat-mate had no prior idea of the meetings Astoria had held in the past nine days. "He- I ran into him at the tea-shop nine days ago, and…" She paused here, her speech rendered hesitant; how did she explain the personal and heart-held secrets of hers and Draco's conversations? She couldn't, but then, he had expressed to Neville the nature of their current relationship. And if there was anything unlike Draco Malfoy, it would have to be telling Neville Longbottom of his need for assistance in being a better person.

This caused Astoria to realize just how desperate her friend must be. Any prejudice she had held against Draco due to his own prejudice, any distaste her friends may feel, any judgment holding her back, became insignificant at the revelation that he had come here to find her, had been driven to such a point of desperate need that he had asked _Neville Longbottom for help._ Astoria found her lips had parted, her face laxing to a gape, and she snapped her jaw up, looking at her friends.

"I- I'm sorry. I've got to go. I'll explain later." She began backing up, her feet finding the tile behind. "Maybe. I don't know. I- bye!"

She turned and, in a few brisk strides, reached the door, planted her palm against the cool glass, and was released into the drizzling streets. She felt like a suction cup had been released from her chest, some pressure having evaporated, as she reached Draco. She knew she stared at him like a wide-eyed doe caught in the gaze of a predator, and she knew he held the potential to become such a predator, leave her wounded, coated in venom, her heart pulled from her chest. And yet no instinct appeared to warn her away, and she was reminded that a wolf, however much potential it held to be deadly, was also loyal, soft, respectful. Perhaps that was why she lacked appropriate fear. She was frail, fragile, she knew, but sometimes the risk is necessary, no matter the potential for pain.

His eyes were clouded blue, a deep pool of sadness behind the mask of gray that usually concealed his emotions. She could see all of the things he must be feeling, above all the defeat, and she knew, among many other things, that she could get him to victory again- this time, for the right side. This time, for the ones who would care about him. This time- for _him._ Not against anyone else. True victory is only that which lifts oneself, not that which tears down another. Harry Potter didn't defeat Voldemort; he freed and protected his friends and loved ones. And now, Draco needed to do the same kind of thing.

Against all reason, against all logic, Astoria reached up and placed cool fingertips to his pale, sallow cheek, and her eyes met his as her heart beat rapidly with the tempo of her realizations.

"Let's go to my house, shall we? I think a long talk is due."

 **ooo**

The flat located at 261 Doyler Street was nothing particularly awe-striking.

It was a simple two-bedroom apartment, though the bedrooms were likely only the size of Draco's closet. A kitchenette lined the wall immediately right of the door, a bar of counter separating the tile floor from the living room's hardwood. A small nook existed at the end of the counter, room enough for a smaller table of rich cedar with mismatched chairs around it. A collection of knick-knacks, including spice racks, porcelain roosters, salt and pepper shakers that looked like miniature puffskeins, and various other small things, sat along the kitchen counters. A teal kettle gleamed at the back of the stove, empty where it rested on a burner.

To the left of this kitchenette was a living room, composed of a plum-colored couch, lime green armchair, wide Aztec-patterned black and white rug, stout navy blue coffee table, and a standing silver lamp with a lampshade shaped and colored like a black top hat. Where muggles would place a tele, Astoria and Edna had placed a wide bookshelf, filled completely with books, so much so that a few even sat on top of rows of books, where there was no more room to squeeze them in next to the other books. Knick-knacks lined the shelf, too; these were ceramic dragons and cats, models of wands, a rock with the Deathly Hallows sigil carved into its top, several tealight candleholders, ceramic eggs with oriental paintings on their side, and so on. Directly across from the front door, between the bookshelf and the bar, were two doors; on the other side of the bookshelf was one other door. Beyond the lime green arm-chair, against the far left wall, was a large picture window, divided by cross-beams into twelve sections.

It wasn't much, but for Astoria, it was home.

"This is it," she said, as Draco walked in behind her. Her heart thumped in her throat and she tried to swallow it down. _Now's not the time for your erratic beating,_ she mentally scolded, but it didn't seem to have an effect on her heart. Damned thing never listened to her. Astoria closed the door behind Draco, watching him look around. Instinctively, she folded her arms against her chest, as if to block out whatever judgment he may hurl at her. "It's not much, but-"

"It's perfect," he said, and glanced at her; for a brief moment, it seemed their eyes were locked together, blue and brown trapped in a gaze. Then he paced to the bookshelf, kneeling there and here and there again to get a more detailed look at the knick-knacks. "This place suits you."

Astoria took a seat on the geometric plum couch, with its angled arms and boxy shoulders. "Does it? My parents won't even come here; they don't think a _flat_ could ever suit me. Daphne likes it, though."

"How is she these days? I didn't really get a chance to talk to her at the tea-shop." He lifted a porcelain owl, studying it. "And I haven't seen her since."

Jealousy pricked at Astoria's gut and she tried to crush it, but only ended up sighing silently. "She's well. She works herself too hard, but she's well. Unmarried; unmatched, I should say."

"Oh. Your parents also want to arrange a match for their children?"

Astoria shrugged, though he had his back to her and couldn't very well see through the back of his head. "They've said as much all our lives, but ever since I moved out they don't quite seem interested in such a prospect. Not for me, at least."

"If they'll let a difference in viewpoints stop them from caring about you, that's their problem, not yours." He rose to his feet, lifting one of the oriental eggs from a top shelf. "Besides, would you _want_ an arranged match?"

Sitting on her couch with Draco in her flat, Astoria thought she had a better idea now of what she wanted than she ever had before. "No; not at all."

He put the egg back and his hands dove into his pockets. He didn't appear to be looking at the bookshelf anymore, but he still didn't face her as he asked, "Would you want to marry someone of the Sacred Twenty-Eight anyway, to appease your parents?"

"Not to appease my parents."

As they had that first day, words tumbled out, uncontrolled, as though a dam had broken and Draco culled forth the water.

"I mean," she tried to amend, "If I were to meet the- the right person, of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, I wouldn't base my decision to marry them on their blood. If I met a muggle-born wizard and he happened to be right for me, then his blood wouldn't stop me. But if I happened to find a pureblood wizard, well, that would please my parents as well."

Her heart hammered against her chest. She felt like she was going too far out of her way to make sure it didn't seem like she had thought of Draco in that way; she'd had such a strong infatuation with him her first year at Hogwarts and it had come back full swing, she now realized. But this was Draco and she was a Greengrass; even with them both being pure-bloods, both being Slytherins, both holding the same desire to hold different values than their families, there was still too much going against them. Draco had a bad temper, and Astoria was too frail. Her parents had made it known to her and Daphne when they were much younger that a pregnancy was the riskiest venture they could embark on; their parents had told them to find submissive men, so they wouldn't be stressed about tempers; their parents-

Had been wrong before, Astoria remembered. Besides, she was getting ahead of herself; it had just been nine days. Nine. There was no need to go that far ahead of herself, not when she only just reunited with Draco. He was interested in her ability to help him be a better person, not- that other thing.

"I see," Draco said, in response to her earlier explanation. He turned around and faced her, his eyes slightly narrowed. "So, what did you want me to come here for, anyway?"

Her mind flitted back to that moment outside the diner, her fingers on his cheek, his eyes flooded with sadness, and found herself shocked at his question. "You were looking for me, weren't you?"

"I had stopped by the time you got there. I was simply going to go back home."

"But something caused you to come looking for me in the first place," she protested, defiance creeping into her tone. "Something caused you to ask Neville Longbottom for help, and don't think I'm unaware of how you treated him at Hogwarts. So whatever made you decide it was a mistake to come look for me, obviously there was something bigger that drove you out this way. You can go home if you'd like, or you can stay here and open up to me. It's your choice. Make the right one."

A snappiness had entered her voice she rarely used, but he had irritated her. She had felt a different energy flowing between them until his last few words; he had been rude, and she couldn't fully regret returning the favor.

A hard glint replaced the color in Draco's eyes. "I'll make whatever choice I'd like, whether you think it's right or wrong."

The urge to rise and tell him to leave was overwhelming. This flat was Astoria's safe-place, and she wouldn't be disparaged here. "Then choose!"

He strode around the coffee table, making for the door, and then stopped at the couch, barely centimeters from her. Astoria rose to her feet, staring into his blue-gray eyes with unabashed strength. But as she rose, she realized how close they were; hardly any space existed between them here. With what remained of her self-controlled, she forced herself not to step back, not to bow down. He would have to be the one to create distance.

"What's your decision, then?"

He leaned close to her, and then his hands were on her jaw, his fingers on her cheeks and just barely into her hair. Close was no longer the word for their proximity.

"How did you do it?" He demanded, his voice hushed.

"Do what?"

"Just- exist, in all your perfect defiance, in all your intellect and wit and courage. Your family is known for their curse of frailty and yet I can't think of anyone stronger than you, Astoria. There's just- there's some kind of light inside you, and it makes me wish I hadn't lived so long in darkness. I don't know how to act around you; I'm either irritable or uncertain most of the time, but around you there's this added energy, this- this feeling that I can't put a name to. And this morning, I asked my mother about your family, and she spoke against you and for the first time in a long time I was infuriated at her. I snapped at her and my father, interrupted them, and stormed off. I asked _Neville Longbottom_ for help because I so desperately needed to see you, to hear your voice, to make sure you were okay and to be completely soothed your company, because somehow you can do that. How do you do it, Astoria? How is it that you can breathe and I feel like there's this light, this chance that the world isn't as dark as I thought, that maybe _I'm_ not as dark and hopeless as I believed myself to be? I need you to tell me, because I can't figure it out. I can't decipher the mysteries of your very existence. So you have to tell me."

Her heart was a frantic mess now. Astoria had never been told anything like that, like any of that, and he had defied his parents for her, had condescended to ask Neville for help, because he _needed_ her. Astoria had never been needed, not like that, not by anyone. He had confessed all of that and now it lie on the ground, a puddle of a confession, the air between them, the thickness in the atmosphere. The words had tumbled out by lie not like rocks, but like stars, glistening lights where before there had been darkness. The absence of darkness, the truth come to light, the way he needed her-

Her mind was a mess, her eyes fixated on his, her jaw still tingling from his touch; for all the boldness he had just spoken of existing in her, she was now cast astounded and confounded by his words spoken shamelessly and openly.

 _How do you do it?_ How did she do it? She seemed to have forgotten.

As she stood in silence, her eyes wide on his, she saw the fire die from his eyes, degrading to embers in the depths; and his eyes weren't gray just from lack of emotion, his eyes were gray from ashes. Somewhere behind the ashes there was an ocean, and that, she guessed, was the cycle of fire- flame, ash, ocean. In the absence of the fire came its opposite. And Astoria, well, she thought then she could drown in the depths.

"I'm sorry," he said, and his hands dropped from her face, his feet carrying him a step away from her. "I've said too much. The right choice would've just been to leave."

She followed him, stepping forward, and her hand found his. She stared up at him, their heights a distance apart so she had to tilt her head back this close. "Staying here is the right choice. Don't go. At least stay for tea."

His brow twitched. "You _want_ me to stay? After all that?"

The intensity still crackled between them, sulfurous and rhythmic, and Astoria had never been more certain that she desired for someone to stay.

"Yes. Oh, Merlin, Draco- please stay."

His jaw clenched, unclenched, his eyes betraying the turmoil she knew hurricaned through him right now. But he nodded, and his fingers curled around hers where their hands were entwined. "Okay."

It would be a long afternoon.

They sat at the table in the rickety chairs, with tea sweetened by honey and sugar, as Draco recounted in vast detail the events of the morning and the past night. And Astoria finally opened up to him, told him of the frailty that afflicted her family, of the side-effects- the fainting, the nausea, the binge-sleeping, the insomnia. The nightmares, the migraines, the leg cramps, the back pains. There was no bodily pain she was unfamiliar with; Astoria had felt it all. She had twisted her ankle so much as a child that now the pain of popping it back into place hardly seemed to hurt. She had broken her nails so many times that it no longer hurt, was only inconvenient.

They talked until the tea ran cold; then they stopped, brewed more, and talked some more.

Conversation seems deeper when two can talk without being overheard. Conversation seems sweeter when two drink tea as they converse. Meanings are spun like webs, cocooning around the listening minds, and conversation begins to come from the heart, not the lips, as secrets are told like Sunday news and anecdotes lace every heartbeat. The veins spill out, words pouring like blood from old wounds and bringing color to old scars. There is no surrender here; there is no victor. There are only words and tea, and thus they shared.

And honey, they both thought, had never seemed so sweet as then when everything else seemed bitter and bold and old.


	6. walnut

Six: Walnut

In eyes we see the soul we hide inside.

A feeling of mysticism pervaded the all-consuming night. Though darkness fell on London, there was nothing but light glistening in the shine of the rain. It was strange to think that, even while darkness existed only in the absence of light, there could be light within the dark.

A pale moon rose among the thin veil of clouds traversing away from the city, which carried with them the last of the rain. The rooftop was misty and damp and the damp soaked through trousers too thin to numbing legs, but for once Draco felt alive. The place he now sat in was without a doubt the place his parents had scolded him most for venturing to, the roof of the west tower of Malfoy Manor, but his bedroom window opened onto the roof and it was a five minute walk to the tower roof, which overlooked the Thames and the city from the perfect perspective. He was neither above everything nor below; he felt elevated and lowly and neither of each, all at once. This was where Draco felt safe.

This had become where Draco lent his mind to thoughts of Astoria.

He had never heard someone speak the way she did; words seemed to dance upon her tongue, pretty images traced in his mind, dark memories made romantic by the grace of her voice. And the way she expressed it all- she said the things he was too afraid to voice, in perfect clarity. She seeped into her words the feelings which he had neglected to even admit feelings, and it all sounded so natural and right, every word she spilled, falling like stones over a waterfall. They were too beautiful and disappeared swiftly into the pool over the edge, sinking among countless other words he would never see; her gift for voice was one which never could be tarnished.

His parents had been unhappy to know he'd stormed off earlier only to speak to her. Dinner had been a silent affair, pockmarked by the clang of silver on porcelain and the occasional clearing of Lucius's throat, as though he nearly dared to break the silence and let everything implode. But no one dared; no one would interrupt the uneasy peace which hovered over the smooth black table, and Draco least of all wanted to share words with either of them. He was far too happy after spending hours with the company of Astoria's expression to let them ruin it.

And for once, Draco realized, he was almost happy.

ooo

There was an itch in his heels for days driving him toward the far side of London. Draco struggled to resist the urge, and his reluctance only lasted until Wednesday. March was becoming even more difficult for him as the month waxed on, teasing him with brief images of walnut eyes and dark chestnut curls and pale skin and the memory of words he couldn't wipe from his mind.

And on Wednesday, his feet finally won, and he was being carried away by a dream.

Apparating landed him just outside of the diner where her room-mate worked. A peek inside showed the curly-haired girl wiping down the bar, and he began to walk off, tracing the route as best he remembered. Despite whatever faults he may have formerly had, he remembered directions, and that was one thing he could say without doubt. And he proved it not long after: Astoria's apartment complex appeared like Hogwarts, a stronghold of comfort and warmth.

Suddenly he stalled.

His confidence slacked, shrinking almost entirely, seeming to be seeped by the cement beneath his feet. His heart tha-bumped, tha-bumped in his narrow chest, his ribs seeming too close together, throat too tight, air not whisking in-

You're a Malfoy, you wimp. She's just a girl.

But even his prideful reassurances did nothing to assure him Astoria would ever be "just a girl." She was Astoria, and she was lovely, and he was- well, he wouldn't admit that just yet, but she was lovely. He almost- but no, not yet, damn it brain, shut up.

He took a deep breath and strode forward, twisting the knob in his hand. It shifted and then stopped, the shock reverberating in his hand. His brow creased as he looked down at it, and tried again, and again it wouldn't open. He looked up.

"What?" He muttered, his eyes roaming the door. Astoria had just strode up and turned the knob; why didn't it work for him? He stared at the knob again, jiggling it back and forth repeatedly. Why won't it open? What sorcery is this?

"Forget your card?"

He jumped at the voice just behind him, instantly lurching back. A squat dark-skinned woman with a black bob stood behind him.

"Here," she said, swiping a thick plastic rectangle through a weird metal muggle thing by the door. Instantly, the door popped open. She shuffled in past him and he stood a moment, staring at the door, and then hurried in after her. He closed the door behind himself and started up the stairs; soon, he reached the second floor, and rapped his fist against the door marked in gold figures, "720B".

After a moment, it opened to easily the most adorable sight Draco had ever seen. His whole chest seemed to swell with light and warmth and he couldn't hold down the smile that stretched his lips too far up and shone in his eyes.

Astoria stood short and slumped, a mug of freshly-brewed tea in her hand. Her dark curls were a wild mess around her pale, groggy face, her mouth frowning with sleepiness, her eyes not quite awake. She wore a very large hooded black-and-cream striped sweater with dark green shorts and fuzzy hot pink socks.

And then there could be no more denying it: Draco was mad for her.

Astoria stared at him with indignant humiliation, tugging the bottoms of her thigh-kissed shorts downward, adjusting her sweatshirt, crying out indignantly, "Draco! What are you- why- what are you doing here!"

The warm fuzzy feeling swelling in his chest was matched by the shine in his eyes and curve of his lips. "I had to see you."

"You can't just spontaneously show up at my flat!"

She rushed inside, leaving the door open; Draco took that as close enough to an invitation and crossed the threshold once more. His fingertips pressed firm against the wooden door, swinging it closed behind him, as Astoria quickly wrapped herself in a small fuzzy blanket.

She stared at him, doe-eyed and still. "I'll be right back. Um- I- make yourself at home- please."

She disappeared into the door she'd indicated last time as her room, closing it behind herself. Draco wondered briefly what mysteries lie behind the barrier, but a girl's room would be very personal, and private, and he had not yet gained her trust to that extent. She was a beauty, and Draco could no longer deny that.

He took her invitation to make himself at home, dismantling his scarf and coat from his shoulders and hanging both along a series of hooks directly next to the door. His hands came naturally to his hips, fingers stretching over rigid bones and thumbs brushing the dimples that flanked his spine, and he glanced around as he meandered to the window. His eyes turned to the street, which was just beginning to spot with rain, and a small smile curved his lips.

This part of London wasn't near as fanciful nor as quiet as where he lived. A motley crew of individuals paced the narrow walkways bordering a stretch of busied asphalt; muggle automobiles lined from walkway to walkway, like ships in a crowded harbor, calling back memories a pale blue Ford Anglia living wild in a dark forest. As he watched, Draco saw a number of muggles cross in and out of a crowded market, entering empty-handed or close to and leaving with arms full of brimming bags. The fruits and vegetables and fresh fish of the market are gleamed with color even in the gathering drizzle, and garments on this side of town were just as colorful; he seemed to be the sole soul of the street in black. Yet for once, possibly the first time in years, there was color brightening Draco Malfoy's eyes.

The door swung open next to him and he heard Astoria catch her breath briefly. He turned his head to face her, his smile still in place. Her dark hair was gathered into a loose bun, some curls falling out around the base of her neck, and she had traded her pajamas for a pair of tight black pants that hugged her shapely legs and a long clover green sweater with tassels that hung in front of the hood. His grin widened, his mind reassured that she was the same beautiful vision he remembered. She was considerably shorter than him, her forehead barely reaching his shoulders, and her walnut eyes glared at him, golden flecks flaring.

She opened her mouth to speak and he could feel the tension roll out ahead of her words; quickly, he spouted, "You're beautiful."

Her jaw snapped up, lips coming together. She stared at him with wide walnut eyes, a flaring temper fading from the warm brown. She had her hands on her hips as he did, though her pose seemed more intimidating, and his more casual. She let her eyes fall on the window, out into the street where he had stared only a moment before.

"How is that?"

Her question caught him off-guard, and Draco turned his eyes back to her, as love-struck as ever. "Because you are. Everything about you."

She blushed, a fiery red seeping into her cheeks, turning porcelain muted crimson. "Is that all you needed me for, then? To stare at me?"

"I didn't mean your looks," he admitted. "Though of course that's part of it. Beauty is as beauty does, Astoria. I don't pass on that compliment easily."

He saw thoughts stewing behind her eyes as they kept their gaze directed at the window and pointedly away from him. She was furious, he could tell, but she didn't say as much.

"It's your eyes, if you're curious," he confessed. "They're the color of walnuts, and it's beautiful." He saw her blush returning full-force; she looked like she wanted to reply, but couldn't, so he continued. "Your dark curls. Your heart-shaped face. That look you get when I say something and you expect more of me. The voice you use to convince me to be the person I'm trying to be. It's your spark, your boldness-"

He was interrupted by a small, short laugh that popped out of her lips. Words followed. "My boldness?" Their eyes met for the first time since she'd turned to the window. "Draco, nothing about me is bold. My sister Daphne is the bolder Greengrass; perhaps that's who you're thinking of, but it's not me."

He kept her eyes held by his. "I have never had someone literally stand up to me the way you did, without animosity or ill-intent, but with a demand for me to own up to my actions and to follow through with my words. Frailty is not weakness, Astoria, nor does it lessen your boldness."

"Daphne is just as affected by the frailty curse, and I don't blame my lack of boldness on that. It's just who I am. I don't know how I stand up to you, or what causes me to." She was shrinking; the walking spitfire she'd been was disappearing inward as she confessed her insecurities, laid bare the parts of her she didn't want to draw attention to. "I'm not bold, Draco. I'm more water than fire."

Just like that, his image of her changed.

Perhaps he had over-estimated her.

Astoria was not fire; she was water. She could roar over tumbling rapids and form a smooth gem from a coarse pebble. She could carve out boulders and expose their insides; she could draw you in with her beauty and throw you about in the stormy waters. She would show mercy only when she chose, and once she had you she held you until she was ready to let go. Being pulled through the current of her mind, the words tumbling through the rapids, was what Draco most wanted to do.

If she be not fire, then water be more her kind- and Draco would learn to swim, or he would drown in her; he was struck by the knowledge he was fine with either.


	7. rosemary

_Though there was no seal, it looked unbroken- till all the ink spilled out and bled across the broken world._

Draco stared at her as though she had put the world together, placed the sun in the sky and hung the moon in the heavens. He stared as though she were the twinkling starlight in his darkest night, the cool breeze on the most heated day, the shelter among the tempest. She was shocked and astounded and didn't quite know how to reply, except that she had last replied- she had stated herself more water than fire. And it seemed that put even more shine in his eyes when they met hers.

"Draco?"

A lazy blink crossed his eyes. "Yes, Astoria?"

"Are you alright? You've been… Weird, since you got here."

She had broken the glass. The shards cascaded around him and she watched them plummet into the carpet. A heavy swallow moved through his throat, and he took a step back, his hands falling from his hips.

"Would you have preferred I didn't come, then?"

For all her temper earlier, her heart now thudded heavily at the thought of him going, at not coming back. _He's a Malfoy,_ she reminded herself. Beautiful he may think her, but he would never _choose_ her. This was a casual courtship with nothing at the end for either of them; he would find love elsewhere and Astoria would be alone once more, scolding herself amid midnight weepings for letting herself fall.

"I- I think so," she said, swallowing down the emotions threatening to rise. Her throat felt tight anyway, her eyes glistened and she blinked rapidly, looking away. "I think you should leave, Draco."

Long, pale fingers curled around her slender wrist before Astoria could pull it away. She stared at it, her eyes not quite taking in the sight. _Why would he-?_

"Why, Astoria? Give me one good reason to leave."

She wanted to give him a thousand but could think of none. Her own heart screamed to tell him to stay but she couldn't, not right now, not this time. She wanted to help him, to watch him look at her the way he had, to feel cool fingers on her wrist- she was getting carried away.

"You can't, can you?"

She nearly hated him for saying that. _Nearly._ But oh, she could never hate him- not if he brought down the heavens to crash into the earth. Not even then. And his gentle embrace of his hand on her wrist had her head fuzzy, and then his other hand took her other wrist and- _oh, am I dreaming?_ Perhaps she was. She had to be. This wasn't the kind of reality she knew.

"Draco…" She swallowed her words, spat them out again. "Draco, you've been speaking like a lovesick fool all morning, and that's not you. It's not. And if it is, then it- it can't last. It's not accurate."

"Why not?"

"Because you're a Malfoy!" And there was the truth as she saw it, lying before them. He went entirely still, his grasp on her wrists vanishing as his hands fell like stones at his sides. Astoria didn't mean his eyes, swallowing heavily and turning toward the window. When she spoke again, volume was low but words were too sharp for her tone to be soft. "Because you're a Malfoy and I'm all but disowned as a Greengrass and no matter how much you like me or I like you it'll always be that way. We'll be great friends but we're certainly not destined to make each other lovesick fools. We're… We're not that. We can't be."

"I don't believe that."

She looked at him with her own hope and desperation, feelings she tried to quash with resilient denial, and he continued, stepping closer, so that only inches lie between them.

"I don't believe that we can't be _that._ Astoria," a nervous chuckle, "You're all I think of. I rushed over here this morning because I- I _needed_ to see you. And that doesn't scare me so much anymore. I don't admit to needing anyone; I've always hated that. With you, though, it's not a choice."

She felt on the edge of breaking. She had broken past his pride-

"And I don't mind," he pioneered on, "I don't mind at all that you have so easily and so quickly broken past every barrier I pretend to have put up. It's not even that you destroyed and broke down all those walls; it's that- you placed yourself inside them, with me, where I haven't let anyone else. And you've been showing me how to keep going, to _be_ the kind of person I admire, the kind of person I'm terrified to be. And if I can apologize to Hermione Granger, I can sure as hell fall for you. That, I would actually _enjoy_ doing."

Her breath caught in her throat. He had said it. He had called her beautiful all morning, complimented the color of her eyes, and now- _I can sure as hell fall for you._ It wasn't the confession she'd dreamt of or imagined. Honestly, it was nothing any girl would want- to have someone falling in love with them compared to an unwanted act- but to Astoria, right then, it was everything.

She met his eyes. "Has someone smuggled you a love potion?"

He laughed and it was closer to a giggle, visibly shocking them both, and he reached one hand up so that it landed on the pale nearly-translucent flesh of her cheek. "No, Astoria. Even if they had, I've been feeling this way since I met you."

"It's barely been a few weeks, Draco."

He shook his head. "I don't care."

Just then, someone knocked at the door, and Astoria stared at the wooden board for a long moment while she debated whether or not to answer. She glanced back at Draco, standing so close that she could smell whatever expensive cologne he wore, making her heady with his proximity… She mentally shook herself and broke from his enchanting grip, going to the door and opening it.

"Hi! I wanted to talk to you."

Astoria's lips parted in shock at the sight of Ginny Weasley at her doorstep. Astoria snapped her mouth shut and stumbled out, "Oh, um, hello, Ginny. How did you-?"

"Neville. Um, do you mind if I come in?"

Astoria glanced at Draco, who was hidden from Ginny's view by the door, and she glanced back at the Weasley girl. "I- I have some company you might find unfavorable."

Ginny moved forward, saying, "As long as it's not a bloody Death Eater-" she froze as she rounded the door and spotted Draco. "Oh. It's a bloody Death Eater."

"Hello to you, too, Ginny," Draco said, with a sigh. Astoria heard the ghost of his unspoken, _Thanks for interrupting my love confession._ On one hand, Astoria was actually quite grateful that moment had been interrupted- she needed to think and consider before she gave him any kind of answer. She had no idea what to feel right now, and Ginny Weasley's presence didn't help.

Astoria closed the door and locked it, noticing Ginny's glance at the motion, and waved toward her living room. "Please, sit, both of you."

"Do you, um," Draco stammered, pointing multiple directions, "Mind if I maybe sit in your room while you ladies talk? I really feel like Ginny doesn't want me here."

"Be that as it may," Astoria sighed, "I'm not sending you into my room alone. You've never been in there. Sit in the arm-chair."

Ginny was now perched on the edge of the couch, and Astoria dragged over one of the tacky chairs from the kitchen table, feeling quite shaken and off-set by all that was happening. Astoria sat down in the chair, trying to seem more okay than she felt.

"Yes, Ginny?" She asked, and her voice only barely trembled. Draco, ever perceptible, took on a worried expression, and Astoria cursed her traitorous vocal chords.

"I was wondering if we could interview you for the Daily Prophet," Ginny answered. Astoria's eyes widened.

"Wait, what?"

Ginny nodded. "Yes, I know, it's… It sounds quite odd. You see, Harry's still hunting Death Eaters, and it's got most of England a bit on edge. Lots of people are worried some monstrous person is going to show up at their door and kill them. Our hope is that if we can interview a few pure-blood Slytherins then we can prove that we don't need to worry that all of you are still undercover Death Eaters. I don't think that, but there are those who do."

Draco grinned, and Ginny looked like she wanted to punch him as he asked, "This wasn't your idea, was it?"

"No, but I'm the one they asked to carry it out, being that I'm the most recent out of Hogwarts," she said, sounding as if she wanted to be anywhere else. Ginny tore her eyes from Draco and fixed her expression from a glare. "Anyhow. Neville's said you tend to be of a reasonable sort, Astoria, and we were hoping to get you and possibly your sister."

"Daphne won't," Astoria said without doubt. "I'm rather on edge with my family right now because I didn't support the war or You-Know-Who. The Greengrasses weren't Death Eaters, but they _did_ call me a blood traitor more than once for spending time with half-bloods and muggle-borns. Daphne is still in good standing, but I suppose, seeing as I'm already an outcast, I could do an interview."

"Oh, um, brilliant," Ginny said, with a nod. "Do you perhaps know anyone else who would?"

Astoria sat quietly for a moment, thinking. She hadn't exactly been popular in Slytherin, hadn't made a multitude of friends, and the pure-blood soirees she'd attended had been hopelessly miserable. _Who else is pure-blood and was sorted into Slytherin-?_

"I'll do it."

Both girls looked at Draco in shock. Ginny gasped out a laugh. "You'll _what?"_

"I'll do an interview," he said, nodding. "Look, Ginny, I know you saw me at my absolute worst, and you're married to someone I did my best to torture, but I'm not that guy anymore. I hated that life while I was in it, and Astoria's been trying to help me redeem myself, so-to-speak, in my own eyes. I think this would be really good. The Malfoys have always been known as a bad group, but we don't have to be. I may not be able to change our reputation, but I can start to."

Ginny took a breath. "Wow, that's- generous of you, I suppose. But Draco," she sighed, "I can't _stand_ to be in a room with you. I wouldn't be able to interview you or write any kind of article about you. I know you're on some repentance thing right now and that's truly brilliant for you, but I can't help you. I truly hate you."

"Ginny, come on," Astoria pleaded. "He's really not that guy any more. None of us are."

"Of 'us'!?" Ginny repeated. "Who's 'us', Astoria? What are you implying?"

"That all of Slytherin house and every pure-blood at one point was as backwards as their parents," Astoria answered, feeling a spark in her chest. "We can't answer for the sins of those who raised us and we can't be held responsible for being brainwashed as children. _You_ had good parents, who loved you and cared about you and expected you to marry for love. We were told from a young age that we should _hate_ our peers based on their blood and to never marry someone of lower blood. It took me three years at Hogwarts to break from that mindset. I was _awful._ I'm only not hated because I was never bold enough to act on my prejudice. Draco wasn't that lucky. He was gifted with inspiring confidence and natural leadership abilities, and he was cursed with parents who taught him to use it in all the worst ways. But do you see Crabbe or Goyle with him now? Pansy Parkinson? His _Aunt Bellatrix?_ "

"She tried to kill me at Hogwarts-!" Ginny protested.

"And I've hated her since I was old enough to talk!" Draco snapped. "Look, Astoria, I really appreciate that you're standing up for me, but I don't need you to. Ginny, I-" He took a deep breath, seeming to collect himself. "I'll do an interview with _Harry_ to prove to the wizarding world I'm not the same scum I once was. I apologized to Granger, and that was good. But I have to do loads more progress before I'll even accept the _idea_ of apologizing to Harry, or Ron. I-"

"Malfoy," Ginny interrupted, and her voice and eyes were low. "I lost my _brother_ to that war. You will never know what that's like. I nearly lost the man I love, and every other brother I have. What did you lose?"

"My childhood."

There was silence in the room following the words. Before her Astoria saw fire and ice, polar opposites, two young adults who couldn't be more different. She didn't realize she was holding her breath until she released it.

"I never had one," Draco continued, his voice surprisingly soft. There was no hardness, no edge, to his words; it was only fact and need for someone to understand. "I had a father who expected me to hate others and fight for a man who died before I was born. I had a mother who- who had faced horrible abuse and emotional manipulation, who was _terrified_ to stand up to her husband, in case he treated her how her father did. So she let my father raise me however he wanted, and she snuck in a word or two when she could, but even she was prejudiced. And then at the end of fourth year, when I was as shocked and childish and immature as all the rest of you," his voice unexpectedly cracked, "I was forced to- to _join_ them. While you all got to grieve Cedric Diggory, my father was pulling me aside to explain to me I was expected to become a Death Eater after that, since he was back. I had only just started to think for myself, and then it became a matter of life or death, and I had no choice but to keep acting the prejudiced asshole. Only now if I didn't it meant I died. I never wanted to be a Death Eater, Ginny. You lost your brother, and- and countless friends, I know. I didn't have anything to lose except my own life. All my family are _horrible_ people, and I abandoned all my friends as soon as I left Hogwarts. So yes, I'm on a repentance thing. Because I'm trying to learn how to grow up. But I don't have even half the resources you did. Nor did Astoria, but she's just- she's smarter than me. So if you could just consider giving me a chance, I'd really appreciate it."

He rose from his chair and moved toward Astoria's, and then bent down and kissed the top of her head, one hand brushing the back of her hair. "I think I'm going to leave, now. Shall I return this evening?"

She nodded. "If that's what you want, Draco."

He moved toward the door with shining eyes, and then Ginny stood and said, "Malfoy, wait."

He grew still, one hand on the knob.

"Please, come in and do an interview," she said, sighing. "I'll- I'll get one of the other journalists to do it, to be more fair. You're right; you're the perfect candidate for an article to lessen fear of pure-blood Slytherins. It's probably wrong to categorize you lot by that anyway, but it's what the higher-ups want. _You_ would be perfect. Please, come in."

He nodded once, and then said, "Okay. Let Astoria know when and where, and she can tell me. Goodbye, Mrs. Potter. Goodbye, Miss Greengrass."

He walked out the door, and Ginny sat back down. The air in the room became stifling, and Ginny and Astoria tried to fill it with conversation, but Ginny soon left while Astoria tried to recover.

She had known well enough exactly how much pain it was to grow up pure-blood in one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight households. But her parents had stayed out of the thick of the fighting, had merely supported from the background, and she had thought that bad enough. Now she knew her ignorance, and it left a sour taste on her tongue.

She brewed a cup of tea and moved to sit in the windowsill and watch the street. People come and people go, but some stick with you, crawling between your ribs and taking up a residency in your chest. Astoria took a sip of the tea, and the herbs rested on her tongue, the heat falling through her esophagus with healing powers.

Perhaps she hadn't given Draco the chance he deserved.

But she had stood up to Ginny Weasley, and if that proved anything at all to her, it proved that she was falling for Draco Malfoy with reckless abandon- and there was no saving her now.


	8. olive

Eight

 _I am half agony, half hope. Tell me that I am not too late._

He was shocked to see her- shocked, and grateful.

The restaurant was crowded and cramped, clusters of wizarding folk all around. The Malfoys looked on with disgust as Draco departed from their table after a hasty excuse; he felt his mother's eyes on his back as he walked over to the corner booth. The witch looked up with shocked brown eyes.

"Draco?"

"Mind if I- if I sit here? Just for a moment?"

Hermione peered around him at a table across the room. "Your parents don't look okay with it. And- and Harry and Ron are going to be here soon."

"Just- just for a moment, Hermione, please."

He winced. Pleading? With _her?_ Merlin's beard, what had become of the mighty Malfoy? How he'd fallen. He swallowed heavily and Hermione seemed to see how nervous he felt.

"Um. Sure. But only for a moment, okay?"

"Of course." He half-slid, half-stumbled into the booth. Hermione watched this ungraceful display with raised eyebrows, and he couldn't exactly blame her for that. "I just- I just had a question."

She nodded almost imperceptibly. "Okay."

"Please- be completely up front with me. I- I've heard the way you talk to- to _Potter._ I need that kind of bluntness."

Her eyes somehow further widened.

"If you can't do that, fine. I just need to know- do you think it's possible for- for someone to repent? Seventeen years of being an awful person, feels impossible to come back from, and I- I- I don't know if I'm strong enough for that."

Hermione paused for a moment, her dark eyes on the table, deep with contemplation. Draco couldn't tear his eyes from her face. His heart pounded just being here, and he knew his parents still judged him from across the restaurant. Then she finally looked up, and for a heartbeat- a brief, flickering heartbeat- he saw walnut brown instead of espresso.

"I think it counts for something that you're even trying to, Draco."

"What the bloody hell!?"

Draco sprang up from the table and it felt like he left his blood behind as his face went ghostly. He kept his eyes toward the ground, but peripherally, he saw the tall bloke with the patch of red hair, and, worse still, behind that, the scrawny olive-complexioned kid with messy black hair.

Years of training to keep composed in the worst situations led to Draco spouting a jumble of words to Hermione- something along the lines of _Thank you, see you, well, farewell, bye-_ that he didn't quite remember. He sprinted at the most controlled walk he could manage to the door. When he dared a chance a glance at the table where his parents set, Lucius glared at him with a fork stabbed into the tabletop. Draco turned his eyes back forward. _Oh, shit._

He swept out into the streets, feeling a breath of relief in the London fog. He inhaled the night deep into his hollowed lungs and started to walk down the streets. Destination unknown, intentions impossible, thoughts a mess-

The door opened behind him and the voice Draco least wanted to hear spoke out into the misty night.

"Malfoy?"

He froze. Tension entered his shoulders like it had when his adrenaline was going, but the blood coursing in his ears and the tight set of his jaw was reminiscent of scoldings from his father at a young age.

"What are you doing out here?"

Draco didn't move. To his misfortune, Potter walked up next to him, lifted a hand as if to lay it on Draco's arm, lowered it. "Are- are you okay?"

"Fine," Draco bit out, force of habit. Potter stared at him, glanced back at the door, and seemed to debate whether or not to press the issue.

"Did you- I mean, did you still need Hermione?"

"I don't _need_ anyone." Draco closed his eyes briefly and pinched the bridge of his nose. Afterward, he lowered his arm and put his hand on his hip. He took a breath. _It's just Potter._ Just _Potter? That's- whatever._ "Sor-" He paused and cleared his throat. "No; I think I've bothered her enough. I didn't- I didn't mean to interrupt your night."

Potter didn't seem how to take this and Draco refused to make eye contact. _Salazar's velvet green robes, this is awful. What the- why is that the expletive? Naturally, that's what I'm thinking about._ Draco cleared his throat again.

"Potter." It stung just to say it. "Tha- I appreciate you coming out here, but I really just- I need some time to myself. Go back in to your friends. Go… Have fun, or whatever."

A stunning spell would have left Potter an easier time dealing with Draco's words. Potter ran a hand through his stupid hair. "Um. Thanks, Malfoy. But where are your friends?"

"Don't have any of those."

" _What!?"_

Draco turned fully to Potter, clasping his hands in front of him. "Look, I'm sorry, Potter, but I really don't feel like talking about this to you. And I can't believe I just apologized to you, because you're the one person I'm _never_ saying sorry to. You aren't as innocent as you'd like to think- I was a right prick, but you didn't have to return it. You could've just ignored me. If you had asked me even one time five years ago if I was alright, maybe we could've been friends! But right from the start, I said, 'Hogwarts, too?' And _you_ completely blew me off from the start! My bad for having a rich, condescending father! Next time, I'll be an orphan raised by stupid filthy muggles, so that maybe I'll be worthy of perfect Harry Potter's time, you sassy cat!"

Draco froze, seeing Potter start shaking- but Potter wasn't shaking from fear, or anger, or any other motion Draco had ever attempted to elicit. Potter was _laughing._

And suddenly, Draco burst out laughing, as well. "What in Merlin's name did I just say!? Good grief! I've- I've _really_ got to go get some alone time."

"Yeah, you- you do that," Potter said, unable to repress his laughter even long enough to speak. "Go clear your head. Seems like you need it."

"I think I just unloaded, like, six or- or ten years of bitterness. I need to go. Um. Goodnight, Potter."

"Night, Malfoy. Want me to tell your father you're not coming back?"

There it was, Potter's usual sass. But in Draco's weird mood, he ended up grinning and said, "Yeah- tell him you still have that other sock and would like to know which house elf he likes the least."

Potter's jaw dropped, and Draco just turned and walked off into the night.

 _Great Merlin, what's happened to me? Laughing? With POTTER? Next thing you know, I'll be having a drink with Neville Longbottom._

ooo

"You did _what!?"_

Astoria was laughing too, and Draco loved the sound of it. He had gone straight from the restaurant to her apartment, and stood now in her doorway as she doubled over. She finally went back upright and wiped her eyes. "Are you- are you serious?"

"No, that's my uncle, or something. But anyway. Yes, that happened, and it inspired me."

She lifted her thin brows. "To do what?"

"I figure if I can finally tell Potter what's been bothering me since before first year, I can finally ask you what I've been wanting to since that day in the tea shop."

The laughter faded from her face, and she looked… Worried. Not a good expression, he reflected, but maybe she expected something worse. "Oh? And what would that be?"

Emboldened by the long night, he reached out and took one of her pale hands in his own. "Astoria, would you consider letting me take you out on a date?"

She gasped, and he couldn't help but smile. Her eyes widened, but the walnut depths- that wasn't _sadness,_ was it? It looked like… Reluctance? But why?

And then he knew, as she withdrew her hand from his and cleared her throat, looking away. "I- I'm sorry, Draco, but… I can't."

The door closed in his face, leaving Draco alone in the apartment hall. He backed up, feeling the railing hit his lower back, and caught the railing in his hands.

All his buoyancy faded, replaced with mingled disappointment and confusion. _Why not?_ The question started to replay in his head, and he wanted to know the answer. He stepped forward, his fist rapping against the door, but she didn't answer even after the third knock.

He sat on the stairs for an hour before he stood and went home. He justified to himself that he had tried too hard- his life had never been a consistently easy and he had pushed his luck. That was his mistake. It had been an unpleasant supper with his parents after a long day, and he hadn't seen Astoria in three days while waiting to hear back from her or Ginny. He'd been trying to give her space.

Then Granger had shown up and said the words that clicked it all together. Then Weasel-bee and Potter appeared, and that was weird, and then it worked out _great._ So he'd gotten words of wisdom and a good laugh. He should've known better than to hope he'd get what he really and truly desired as well.

And this whole repentance thing- that's what it all stemmed from, wasn't it? That one encounter with Astoria. He'd wanted so badly to impress her, to prove that he was the guy _she_ saw, not the prick he'd been. And it hadn't even mattered- he would never have her. Astoria Greengrass was too good for him.

There was a time when he'd thought no one was good enough for him.

But that was when being a Malfoy was the most important thing. He was pureblood and that mattered because his parents said it mattered. Then he was nearly top of his class for a long time, became a talented wizard. And then… Everything went to rubbish his fourth year, and his whole identity started to lose value. Then fifth year he had a modicum of power, a way to prove himself worthy to his father. And that's what _that_ stemmed from- he had always wanted to bring Lucius Malfoy some kind of pride in him, because he was so proud to be his father's son.

So really, he liked Astoria too much because she saw the person he had wished he was when he first met Harry Potter. She saw the ambitious, brave, strong person he _wished_ he was. He liked her because she made him prove he could be that person- and that only mattered because he wanted to prove he _wasn't_ his father's son.

As he reached Malfoy Manor, he stared a long moment at the tall black walls, gleaming spires reaching up to the moon, the wrought iron gates and the whole gothic travesty that his family presented.

He stood there a long time. Rain started to fall, effectively weaving itself into the fabric of the black suit he wore. The suit had probably cost _galleons,_ and had been tailored exactly to fit him. He looked down as it was soaked, and let out a bitter chuckle into the night.

"Mate- this is a horrible suit," he muttered to himself. "I- I _hate_ it."

He reached down and unbuttoned it, and then, pursing his lips, grabbed the collar of his shirt and ripped it. He knew his mother could fix a fabric tear in the blink of an eye- but it was satisfying just to see the rip. He grinned and turned to the dark street, backing away from the wrought iron gates.

"I don't need it," he noted. "I have _magic,_ Malfoy or not." He looked up. He could see the office light on. In another part of the manor, his bedroom light flicked on and back off. His mother, or a house elf.

He smiled. "Bye, Mum."

And turned and walked away down the streets.


	9. clover

_I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun._

* * *

The door closed and she heard him back away from it.

Astoria bowed her head, chocolate curls falling to hide her face and the pricking warmth of her eyes. She heard a door open behind her.

"Astoria? What was that?"

Astoria blinked rapidly and cleared her throat, backing away from the door lest he hear. "N-nothing. Just… A friend."

Edna cocked a thick black brow. "Then why do you look like you just got run over?"

Astoria felt herself cracking. "I- I just need…"

"No. Go sit in my room. I'll fix you some tea. It's high time we talk about this."

And Astoria supposed Edna would know, and Edna would be right. Edna was a Hufflepuff and she would find out eventually. Astoria hugged herself and walked slowly to her friend's room while Edna entered the kitchen and set about her work.

Ten minutes later, sat on Edna's grand lilac bed with a cup of chamomile tea, it was no easier to survive the fracture in her chest. A very real pain existed there and she imagined it would hurt less if she _had_ been run over. But Edna was right- it was time for Astoria to open up about it. Edna sat down across from her with a mug of coffee and waited.

When it became obvious Astoria had no intentions of breaking the silence, Edna finally said, "So- Draco Malfoy?"

"What a rotten git." Astoria's breath hitched as her voice broke, and she studied her hands. How long had that scar been there, on her thumb? Her mother would cry at how cracked and brittle Astoria's nails were.

"What did he do?"

Astoria looked plainly away, directing her focus to the carpet as she squeezed out the words in a faltering voice, "He asked me on a date."

Edna's eyebrows rose. "I thought- I thought that's what you wanted? You've been talking about him a while and you kept running off with him. Were the two of you not already dating?"

Astoria sighed. "No. I was helping him redeem himself for his past wrongs."

Edna snorted. "Is that even possible? Sorry. But why is it so bad he asked you on a date?"

Astoria finally looked up and confessed the words that broke her:

"Because I've been thinking about him too much, and there's not a chance it will work out."

After that, the words spilled out, worlds and memories flying loose from Astoria's tongue and filling the clustered bedroom. Edna was a good listener, quiet, asked all the right questions, but Astoria had held in so much that not even dear Edna could possibly properly process it. Astoria told of the teashop, the sushi restaurant, the Ministry visit, the morning, Ginny Weasley- and tonight. And that was all it had been: five individual events across the course of a couple weeks. And that was all it had taken to break her.

That was why tonight, when he asked more formally to court her, it had been all she could do to close the door before he could see her reaction. If she let herself fall back to the same attention to detail, if she let herself remember the way she had felt about him when they first met, he would wreck her. Because he was Draco, and he had a temper as famous as his wealth, and he was changing his reputation but that didn't concern her. It wasn't Astoria's responsibility to make him a better person- she had agreed to help him because his eyes had a stronger effect than even amortentia. Nothing was more potent than the crystalline irises, and Astoria would let herself dream of them for years thereafter.

She had dreamed of them the past decade, and it had gotten her nowhere and nothing, nothing but heartache.

And she finally told Edna all of this, the entirety, the feelings of inadequacy and hopelessness, the heartache and the broken ribs and the pain. And Edna listened, because Edna would try to help, and both of them knew there was nothing to be done.

Nothing to be done but move on, and perhaps Draco would now overlook his temporary infatuation with her. He would see that she wasn't beautiful, but he simply liked the way she spoke of him. And someday he would think of himself that way and wouldn't need her anymore- but Draco didn't _need_ anyone. Wouldn't desire her anymore.

And it all fell out of her like a basin filled too high, and Edna was no pensieve but Astoria felt better for having released the thoughts.

Sleep was a fair-weather friend and proved it in the small hours of the morning, and when Astoria dozed, it was only flickering memories of crystalline irises.

ooo

It was two days later that Daphne came to visit.

Astoria had woken early; she had a job interview and then a meeting with Ginny Weasley, so she was up before the dawn to bathe and dress. With a whisk of her wand, she prepared breakfast and tea, and then sat on the couch with the Daily Prophet to make sure her knowledge on events was current. The knock on the door caused her to spill her tea, drenching her hand in steaming Earl Grey.

Astoria grumbled and cast an evaporation charm before setting down her paper and rising. She peeked through the peephole- Daphne, thankfully. She was glad to see her sister's honey blonde instead of… But she was trying not to think of him. She took a breath and opened the door, still surprised just to see her sister.

"Daphne! What are you doing here?"

Her sister stepped inside. This would be Daphne's third time in Astoria's flat- the first had been while Astoria was moving in, to beg her to come back; the second had been inviting Astoria home for Christmas. Daphne glanced around.

"It's changed in here," Daphne noted. "More decor."

Astoria nodded, slowly closing the door, as Daphne's emerald eyes took in the room. The blonde turned to Astoria.

"I have to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth."

Astoria's eyes widened, and she nodded, picking up her tea again. "Okay."

"Is Draco Malfoy here?"

Astoria reeled, and cleared her throat, nearly spilling her tea again. "Er, no, definitely not. I haven't seen him since the night before last."

"That's when he disappeared!"

Astoria's eyes shot wide and she suppressed her gasp. "Come- sit. I don't think I can stand for this conversation anyways." She perched on the edge of the couch. "What happened?"

Daphne sat down next to Astoria, eyes bright with excitement. "His mother came by our estate this morning and said he hasn't been home since the night before last. They were out eating- the three of them- and _Hermione Granger_ was there."

Astoria's widened further and she forced herself to take a sip of tea. "You're joking?"

"Not at all. Draco went to talk to her and his mother, Narcissa, was worried about him. Lucius was _furious-_ you've seen him, just at soirees he gets temper flares. Anyway. Then _Harry Potter and Ron Weasley_ showed up and Draco left."

"Wait- how'd you find out all this?"

"Narcissa told Mum. She was all worried about him. Said Lucius hadn't even wanted her to come and ask if we'd seen him."

Astoria's eyebrows lifted. "Why would she think we had seen him?"

Daphne elbowed her. "Oh, come now, Astoria- the boy's mad for you! Narcissa said he got in a fight with Lucius about you!"

Astoria gaped, and forced down another sip of tea. "So- so then what happened? The whole Golden Trio was there and Draco left…?"

"And Potter followed him out, came back a minute later laughing. That's all they saw of him. Thought he'd cool off and come home, but he hasn't yet. So you said he came by _here?"_

"Yeah, he- he wanted to tell me about running into Harry. Daphne, do Mum and Dad know you're here?"

"No." Daphne grinned. "I came on my own. Mum's not happy that Narcissa thinks there's something going on between you and Draco."

Astoria stifled a laugh; irritating her mother had been a point of comic relief for Astoria for years now. "Why is that?"

"Well, he was a Death Eater, wasn't he? She thinks he'd be too much for you."

Astoria nodded; she had to concede her mother had a point. "That's a fair point."

Daphne leaned close. "So- what's the truth? _Is_ he mad for you? Do you feel the same way about him?"

"Daph, it's not like that." Astoria set down her tea and held in a sigh. "He just… Needs a friend. His family forced him to be a Death Eater, he didn't want it. And now he's living with all this guilt and doesn't know what to do with it."

"You know he probably killed people, right?"

Astoria met Daphne's eyes without pause. "He wouldn't. He was just a scared kid, that's all."

"Astoria- he tried to kill _Dumbledore."_

"He had no choice!" Astoria froze. _He had no choice- he never had a choice. And now I'm the one not giving him the option to choose for himself. Why should I reject him on the basis of thinking I know him better than he knows himself?_ She took a deep breath. "You're right, Daphne. He tried to kill Dumbledore, and maybe he did try to kill people. And he could've chosen to make himself a martyr- but that's not a choice, is it? That's slavery, essentially- do as someone says or die. And he's not the arrogant prat he was. And I'm not in love with him nor is he mad for me. We just ran into each other a couple weeks ago and got really introspective. He's Draco Malfoy, Daph- you know that as well as I do. Even if I _did_ have feelings for him, would it even matter?"

Daphne laid a hand on her arm. "If it matters to you, then yes. And obviously, he's rebelled against his parents for you- he hasn't even been home. I think you're a good change for him, Astoria, and this is the boldest I've seen you since your third year at Hogwarts. If you want him… Go find him and tell him so."

Astoria swallowed heavily, her eyes conveying distress but fixed entirely on her tea. "Is it that simple? Daphne, you _know_ how I felt about him- you of all people should remember how entirely infatuated I was."

"That was when you were eleven. Whatever you feel for him now is quite obviously much more intense and means a lot more to you. And, honestly? If his family or ours is what's stopping you, prove to them their words don't matter. You'll always have me; Mum and Dad can't lose both of us so they'll just have to get over it."

Astoria looked up at Daphne with half a smile and one eyebrow lifted. "Do you mean that?"

"Of course. Now go get him before he throws himself off a bridge to avoid his parents!"

And Daphne was right- of course she was- and Astoria knew there was much more to it, but she had to at least try.

If anyone was worth her trying for them- it was Draco Malfoy.

* * *

 _a/n: i just realized it's been almost a year since i started writing this and i'm only on chapter nine; if you're reading this thank you! this fic is probably the most carefully written of any fanfic i've ever done lmao so thank you for your patience and i hope it's worth the wait. thanks again for reading! more to come soon!_


	10. cocoa

" _And above all, love is comfort- and love for the world makes a comfortable living."_

* * *

It was a long cold night on a park bench, one of the longest nights of Draco's life (post-War, anyway). Apparently, muggle police didn't take kindly to vagrants sleeping on park benches- one woke Draco, thinking him some drunken rich boy who had stayed out too late. Draco stumbled wearily to a park a few blocks away, set wards of invisibility around a bench, and laid down once more. The metal was cold and it had rained earlier in the evening, leaving droplets all along the bench.

It was a restless night, complete with all the unwelcoming sounds of London after hours- at two, someone screamed; at three, a chorus of drunken friends sang their way down a nearby street; at half-five, a man on the street corner babbled to himself about a chicken and an umbrella before diving into a pile of rubbish and falling asleep. The sky was shale gray and cloudy when the rain picked up again, and Draco reluctantly sat up, accepting sleep would be a far ally tonight.

He was surprised to find someone sitting at the end of the bench.

The stranger was an older fellow, twinkling blue eyes rather like Dumbledore's, a darker face and a wide, close-lipped smile. The man dressed simply in midnight blue robes- wizard robes- with no adornment or patterns. Draco raised his eyebrows.

"Oh- er- hello," he greeted the stranger, who simply nodded. Draco clasped his hands between his knees and looked around. It seemed his ward was still in place- a nearby muggle glanced briefly in the direction of the bench and then looked away, confounded, and walked off in another direction. Draco turned back to the old man. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

The stranger shook his head, still smiling wordlessly.

Draco nodded once. "Alright… Well, I'm not sure if you noticed, but I set certain wards to keep others out, and I'm not entirely sure how you got in here."

The stranger nodded, expression unchanged.

Draco stared at him for a moment, and felt obliged to explain further. "I'm not sure if- if you recognize me- most people do- but I'm kind of hiding from my parents at the moment. Did _they_ send you? I'm not sure if you know, or, really, why I'm explaining, but they dragged me into a war on the side I least wanted to fight for- I didn't want to fight at all- and… Anyway. I kind of snapped last night, and just didn't want to go back home. My mum's not all bad; it's my dad who made things worse for us. Funny thing is, Mum's a lot more frightening than him- she just keeps it to herself."

Draco glanced back over at the old man, to see him listening intently.

"And then there's this girl-" It seemed this morning Draco's tongue was determined to betray all his secrets, but he found himself too exhausted to care. "She's… She's beautiful, in every way. The most vibrant soul. I thought she was the spark I was looking for, but it turns out she's less like fire and more like water- and I still don't know why I'm telling you all this- but anyway. She's been helping me become the person I wish I was, over the past couple of weeks, and I may have made a mistake last night by asking her to- to go on a date with me. She rejected me, flat-out." He laughed, surprising himself, and saw the old man's eyebrows raise. "Can't say I blame her, really. I don't deserve her at all. I was just… Feeling buoyant, thought I'd try my luck. I've been such a lovestruck fool around her there's no way she didn't know- I'm sorry, there's no way you care about _any_ of this. I'll be going, then. Need… A strong drink."

He rose from the bench, half-bowed to the old man, and lifted the wards before quickly hiding his wand once more. He started for the side-walk.

A voice froze him:

"Young man- no longer caring about pretense is the most freeing thing you've ever done for yourself."

Draco whipped around, raising his eyebrows at the stranger. "You can _talk?"_

"And I've much to say. It might help you- it might not. I'll trade you some words if you'll buy me breakfast and a coffee."

Draco's coinpurse still rested in his pocket. He nodded, contemplating, as he looked around. "Oh- okay, yeah. Sure. There's, er- a tea-shop just around the corner, they sell pastries and coffee. Shall we?"

The old man's eyes twinkled. "If you'll be my escort."

 **ooo**

"But what has this got to do with it?"

"Look around you- tell me you don't see your soul staring back in charcoal and oil."

Muggles flocked to and fro around Draco and the stranger- who had yet to give his name- in the Guildhall Art Gallery. Accents and dialects filled the room; people from all over had come to stare at canvases filled with color centuries ago. Draco didn't quite understand the allure. His mother had tried this same tactic once, but she had chosen poetry as a medium. Draco began to roam among the crowd in his torn, water-stained suit, his hair in disarray, and reflected too many times that he must look as haggard and homeless as that old babbling fellow from that morning.

He passed into a hall of a more eighteenth-century focus; less people filled this corridor, and Draco quickly saw why: the paintings were of a macabre variety, featuring dark scenes or plain boring ones. Scattered among depictions of fruits and dishes, he spotted the occasional work that didn't make sense to his eyes- pieces of intestines or brains smashed together into something that didn't quite take shape. It seemed this was meant to be 'nature morte', but it didn't make sense to him, didn't make sense at all really, and he left with discomfort prickling along his shoulders and ribs.

He passed a red wall with a focus on portraits. He let his eyes roam the canvases, but, while he saw the skill involved, he couldn't appreciate these faces any more than strangers milling around him. He paused at this- they were _all_ strangers, and yet, there they were, captured in color. His mind returned to the moving paintings in Hogwarts; pieces of people long-since dead remained captured in paint. Muggles had no such magic and yet… There was something enchanting to think someone had fallen so deeply in love with the curve of someone's nose, the breadth of someone's cheek, that they simply _had_ to immortalize that person in art. They were all strangers, yes- but there, that woman in the blue dress had sorrow in her eyes, despite her smile. The muggle standing next to Draco, a girl likely in her mid-teens, stared with awed eyes at a painting of a man in red. They were all strangers- and yet they were all of them art.

Astoria, then, was a masterpiece.

He imagined, briefly, painting her- but it would take an artist of grandeur to perfectly capture the flutter of her ebony eyelashes, the graceful fall of her walnut curls, the ivory slopes of her cheeks. Oh, she would make a lovely painting- and only the most skillful painter could capture her duality on canvas.

Draco moved away from the portraits; something was stirring in his chest and he wasn't ready for it. He needed new scenery.

But the next turn replaced the movement with crumbling despair. The collapse of the Colosseum would cause less destruction than this. He was weeping before he quite understood why.

He was face-to-face with a gargantuan painting of impending battle. Men in red flocked to the edge of a dock, beyond which a flaming ship sank into dark waters. There were men in the water, a white horse crushed among the red-coats, flames licking the wooden hull of the ship…

It was destruction and it was duality. It was the white horse of justice, the red coat of the law; it was the fires purifying the wicked- or were the men on the dock trying to save the men in the water?

Draco saw himself, drowning, as the good watched him fall away. He saw his mother and father next to him, his aunt, his uncle, his only family. He saw men and women who had always been close by as he grew up. He saw them all- drowning- burning- as justice looked on and said they'd known what they were doing when boarding the ship.

For a moment, he saw Buckbeak, flying through the clouds, free in the wind. He felt crushing regret as he remembered mocking Hagrid- everyone had something they cared about, and Draco had done so much not to lose his loved ones, while mocking someone losing a loved one. Draco saw his friends, and saw that he was alone. He saw fire, and he saw water, and he saw Astoria, and he wondered that she had not yet destroyed him.

But hadn't she?

The Draco who drowned in the water was the husk he was shedding. Draco was somewhere between water and dock, salvation and despair, and the suffering in his chest broke his ribs and left him hollow and filled him with pain and filled him with love. And what would his mother think? She had seen the war, had known the dangers, had been terrified for years. He wondered if she, too, would weep at this painting- but his mother had always been stronger than him. Draco, for all his arrogance and need to prove himself, had always been "just a boy." And he had never had a choice. Neither had she- but Narcissa Black, Narcissa Malfoy, had never dared show weakness. Draco had always been weak.

"Had enough, then?"

He looked over through blurred eyes. The old man. "More than enough. I think something broke inside me."

"That happens when you open yourself to art," the old man said. "It is perplexing- how a stroke of charcoal can obliterate you."

"It's not just charcoal." Draco's eyes roamed the canvas as he blinked rapidly to clear them. "It's… The emotions behind it. Muggles might not have magic- but they have _something_ that allows them to channel their feelings into this. Wizards only do portraits…"

The old man smiled. "That is because a battle-scene in live action would be too grotesque to watch again, and again, and again. You know this. Now, come with me- there is one more thing I must show you."

The old man vanished into the crowd and Draco hurried after him. He had the odd urge to search poetry for this feeling, this… Detachment from what he witnessed and who he was. There was a word for it, but what was it-

Disillusionment.

The war was over and the good side had won, but Draco had not been on the good side.

Draco hurried through the crowd, trying to swallow down the thoughts that throbbed painfully in his chest. The old man had listened to him moan and complain all morning and had confronted Draco with some hard truths that Draco hadn't exactly wanted to hear. When it was apparent Draco wasn't absorbing these truths, the old man had brought him here, to the Guildhall Art Gallery, to _show_ him. He had done too well.

They stepped out of the Guildhall Art Gallery and the old man led Draco down the steps and into a small alleyway. Before Draco could blink, the old man had grabbed his arm and Apparated. Draco flinched as the usual suffocating feeling and blur of images consumed him, but it was over quickly. When it ended, they stood on a rocky mountaintop.

A wind whipped by and Draco quickly knelt against it. The wispy old man smiled down at him.

"Don't be afraid," the old man said. "Fear is your enemy. Now- stand up."

Draco slowly did, and the old man patted Draco's back.

"Have I led you astray so far, young man?"

"N-no, sir."

"Good. Then do this one more thing, and I think you'll really set yourself free."

Draco met the man's twinkling blue eyes- not like Dumbledore's, he'd realized as the day went on, but more like his own if they had life in them- and nodded.

"Scream. Just open your mouth and let the sound come out."

Draco creased his eyebrows, and then turned his face to the wind, opened his jaws, and went, "Ahhh."

"No, not like that," the old man grumbled, shaking his head. "Like _this."_

The old man turned his face to the sky, stretched out his arms so his sleeves billowed in the gusting winds, and then _screamed._ It was a sound of pain and loathing and longing and continued long into the breeze. When the old man had finished, his eyes pricked with tears.

"Go ahead. It will set you free."

Draco took a deep breath, glanced at the old man, and then took a few steps forward. He extended his arms as the old man had, but his suit still pressed tight against his ribs. He looked down at it, and then began to unbutton the coat. But it was taking too long- something desperate and wild built in his chest- Draco ripped it open and flung off the coat. For a heartbeat, it flapped away in the wind, and then disappeared into the clouds. Draco held out his arms once more, free this time, and felt the bristling wind bite his cheeks and sting his eyes. He stared into the eyes of the swirling gray clouds, threw open his mouth-

And screamed.

The sound shrieked out of him like lightning and flashbacks, as always, racked his mind. But these were not the flashbacks he squashed down, not the ache he swallowed away. Every feeling of self-loathing and disillusionment and drowning surfaced then and emerged in a single, wailing song, and all his anger and bitterness and despair had somewhere to go.

And for a moment, as he ran out of breath, his throat was hoarse and his lungs heaved and his face strained against the feelings and his eyes burned and-

And he was _free._

He felt no pain or loathing. He only felt the wind and the hot tears in his eyes.

He glanced around, and the old man was gone.

 **ooo**

The next afternoon, Draco sat in a familiar teashop, in a familiar booth, and sipped rosehip tea that did nothing to help him heal. For the first time in years, he had been breathing. He had slept last night on a park-bench again, but this time chose a quieter side of town. He read the Daily Prophet as the cafe's sleepy owner read some muggle book behind the counter. The Ministry had just placed a new set of guards around Azkaban. Hermione Granger had set a new revision to the law for employment of sub-human creatures- the phrasing was now changed to non-human magical beings and wages were required even for house-elves. Draco snorted, remembering SPEW. Fourth year had been… An adventure. He shuddered to remember being turned into a ferret; after talks with his Aunt Andromeda, he had actually come to respect the late Mad-Eye Moody.

"Draco?"

During his silent contemplation, Draco had missed the approaching footsteps announcing his visitor. He looked up with wide crystalline eyes- to see gold-flecked walnut-brown.

"Astoria!"

He banged his knee jumping up from the table so fast and managed to not-quite-gracefully half-bow to her. "Sorry, er- good afternoon."

She raised her eyebrows, her eyes taking in his tattered suit, unkempt hair, and painless smile. "Draco- are you quite alright?"

"I have never been better. I'm glad you're here, actually- I think I met God. I wanted to talk to you about it."

Her eyebrows shot up higher. "Sorry, _what?"_

"This old man showed me art and took me to a mountaintop-"

" _Draco."_ She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Is this all because I said no the other night? Because I've thought about that and- anyway." She took a deep breath. "Your mother is searching everywhere for you. She's worried out of her mind. Why haven't you been home?"

He smiled down at her. "That's not home to me. This-" his eyes roamed the teashop. "-This is. This serene freedom, away from all the pain I grew up with. That black manor where the walls seep dark memories, that's not home."

She sighed, and took his hand. "Come on, Draco- you at least need to talk to your mother. Running away isn't the answer."

Looking into her eyes, he believed her, and he was so at peace with himself, so full of his own tranquility, that he didn't worry at all about facing his father. "Alright, let's go, then."


End file.
